Intertwining Lives: The Ancestors
by Azaisya
Summary: This is the story of all twelve of the Ancestors, from beginning to end. It tells their complete stories, the events that shaped their futures, the nuances of their every day lives, and the tragedies that eventually befell them all. [This collection of oneshots that is no longer being updated]
1. Dreamed (2)

**Hi! This is the first thing I've published in a while, and my first proper contribution to the Homestuck fandom. This is going to be a series of oneshots detailing the lives of the Ancestors. Due to my personal biases, it will most likely focus on the Signless and his followers, Mindfang and the Summoner's rebellion, and occasionally bits of Redglare. The oneshots will not go in order, but I'll normally say which ones they go between. I have quite a few already written, but, as they were written out-of-order, some information will be restated. I will try to update this series as often as possible, but don't expect them to come more than a couple times a week.**

 **Note: Due to the nature of this story, there will be lots of OCs! If you do not have the patience for OCs or cannot stand them, please try and read this anyways! I promise I'll focus on canonical characters and their relationships, and to never name an OC unless they will provide some relevance to the plot (or what little plot there is). Also: the rating is for violence, swearing, and rape (all for obvious reasons). While there won't be any explicit sex, I will imply it very heavily. All canonical pairings are included, but there will be a few extras littered in there.**

 **A** **nother note: This is dedicated to my friend Alex (if she ever finds this) for lots of reasons but mostly just because she's amazing and her art is wonderful.**

 **Timewise: This goes after chapter six (where we meet young Dolorosa). This goes before chapter two (where the Dolorosa and Kankri dance). (PS: If you want to read these in order, check the chapter list! There's a number next to the chapter title; follow those numbers to read it in order!)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck or any of the characters here; they belong to Andrew Hussie.**

 **Word count: 1,275**

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As she had been for the past couple nights, the Dolorosa awoke to the sound of wailing. She groaned and buried her head deeper into her arms, certain that it was far too early for any normal person to be up. The wailing became more insistent, and her arms did little to keep it from piercing her ears. _I would never have rescued him if I had known he would be this much trouble,_ she thought sulkily. Almost immediately, she felt guilty for even thinking such a thing.

Sitting up, the Dolorosa looked around for her grub. He was squeezed against a rock and the wall of their current cave, crying for attention. She surged to her feet, trying to blink away the headache she could feel forming, and walked over to the little grub. "Hello, little one," she murmured, leaning down and picking him up.

The grub stopped crying immediately, choosing to instead insist, "Hun-gee! Hun-gee!"

The Dolorosa said soothingly, "I know you're hungry, little one." Her own stomach growled and she grimaced. Still holding the grub, she kneeled down to inspect their food storage. There wasn't much left. The Dolorosa sighed heavily and fed what little there was to the grub, resigning herself to a hungry day until she could figure out how to get more food.

The grub, like he did most of the time, made little noises as he ate hungrily. Her lips quirked into a smile at the funny sounds, but that quickly vanished when her stomach growled again. The mutant grub finished eating in record time, and he burst out, "Hun-gee!"

She patted his head. "I know, little one." She chewed her bottom lip, wondering how she was going to find more food. Grubs ate a surprising amount.

As a jadeblood, she had spent most of her childhood underground, learning to care for the Mother Grub. As such, she had no idea how to hunt, much less how to skin and gut a creature. She didn't know how to tell which berries were edible and which would kill her in a very painful way. She had some money left, but not enough to last them indefinitely.

"I suppose I'll just have to go into the city and buy some food," she mused aloud, "We'll figure out the rest when we run out again, alright?"

The grub let out a wail, realizing that he wasn't going to be fed anytime soon. The Dolorosa rocked him back and forth in her arms, one of the tricks she had figured out to get him to quiet down. The grub's wails grew softer, but they didn't vanish completely. She checked one of the pockets in the skirt of the dress she had worn ever since leaving the Mother Grub's caverns. Enough money to buy at least a a couple day's worth of food, maybe more if she found the right vendors and spent it wisely.

"How long has it been since I found you?" she asked, thinking back. Were the drones still after her? Either way, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to go into the city wearing jade green and sporting her symbol.

Grabbing the black sash that she'd stolen when she'd left, she wrapped it firmly around herself and the grub, securing him against her chest. He mumbled incoherently and struggled. She tapped his nose as she looked around for something else to wear. "You're cranky this morning, aren't you?" Of course, she didn't have any clothes that _weren't_ jade green.

The grub scowled as her, but he obviously hadn't understood what she had said. He had a faint grasp of language, and could generally repeat words back to her if he'd heard them enough. She sighed. What on Alternia was she supposed to wear to go into the city? Maybe she should use the money to pay somebody to teach her how to hunt instead. That would be a good idea.

Her grub began to wail, but she was able to recognize that he merely wanted attention. She patted his hair and murmured, "Stop being so cranky, little one."

She still had several sheets of black and jade cloth left, as well as her sewing kit. She had to use _a_ color, or else she would be caught immediately as an outcast. The grub still hadn't ceased his wailing, and she moved outside, telling him again, "You're cranky this morning. _Cranky_." The tree nearby had several large leaves that were a lighter shade than her blood color. If she cut them right, she could probably use them and the cloth she had to make something to wear. She would need to buy supplies as well. The Dolorosa sighed. This was turning into a lot of trouble.

The grub still hadn't let up.

She poked his nose, shushing him. "Stop being cranky," she repeated.

He stopped crying, although he glared at her with resentful eyes. He was still hungry, but he'd have to get used to that. "No kankri," he muttered.

"You're very krankri," she replied, not really thinking about what she was saying.

"No kankri!" he insisted.

"Of course, little one."

She tried to pull off one of the leaves and nearly landed flat on her back, discovering too late that their stems were much stronger than she thought. Biting back several choice words, she hissed angrily. Her grub began to yowl. She asked, "Do you want to be let down?" He quieted, recognizing that she was asking a question. When it was clear that he didn't understand her, she said, "Down?"

He hesitated before nodding. She untied the sash and warned, "Don't wander away. Stay near me, alright?"

He didn't reply, crawling away towards the cave. She called after him, "You're still being cranky!"

He stopped crawling away and sat there, looking mulishly at her. "No kankri," he repeated. She laughed under her breath and, now free to move, climbed the tree to hack off leaves with her dagger. Once she'd gathered enough, she retreated to the cave, gave her grub a couple of rocks to play with, and began to sew. She was halfway done when he interrupted her. "Hun-gee."

"I know, little one." She'd been half-tempted to eat the very leaves she was sewing with. "I'm almost done."

He crawled over to her, and she hastily moved the needles out of his reach. Caring for a grub was difficult, and she was operating on very little sleep, but she wouldn't give him up for the world. "Yes kankri?" he asked.

"Very kankri," she murmured, petting him once before turning her attention back to her work. He milled around her for a bit, bored. He crawled up her leg once, but she merely plopped him into the basket with all of her thread and told him to wait there.

"Mama kankri," he mumbled through a mouthful of blue thread. With the ease of practice, she carefully extracted it from him mouth.

"You're kankri," she replied. Suddenly, she stopped. "Cranky." He shook his head.

"Kankri."

"Kankri. . . ." she mused, turning her attention completely away from her work. "You know . . . that might actually work."

He cocked his head, curious.

"You've needed a name for a while now. . . ." She laughed and scooped him up. "How do you like Kankri, my little grub?"

He wiggled his legs. "No Kankri!" She put him into her lap and tickled him, unable to stop grinning.

 _Kankri._ It was perfect.

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 **Review.**


	2. Dreamed (3)

**Hello again! Have another chapter! (I've decided to just upload these in the order that I wrote them, which means that there's gonna be a couple more Dolorosa and Signless ones before anyone else).**

 **Timewise: This goes after chapter 1 (where Kankri names himself) and before chapter 3.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Homestuck or any of the characters here; Andrew Hussie does.**

 **Word count: 1,357**

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The little troll lay on his stomach in the dirt, chin propped in his grubby fists. His eyes were fixed on the woman sitting on a rock nearby. "Mother, can you tell me a story?"

The Dolorosa didn't look up from the needle she held in her fingers. The needle flashed as it went up and down, diving into the colorless pants that sat on her knees, pulling the large tear at the knee shut. "What story would you like to hear, little one?"

Kankri thought for a little bit, thinking hard. Hesitantly, almost shyly, he asked, "Can you tell me about your life before?"

Up and down the needle went, almost hypnotic in its movements. The Dolorosa nodded. "Of course. You know that all jadebloods are sent into the caverns to take care of the Mother Grub." Kankri nodded even though it wasn't a question.

"I wasn't very good at taking care of the Mother Grub herself," she admitted, smiling wryly, "I was too impatient, too willing to take shortcuts, and too easily bored.

"I was one of the few who knew how to use a weapon. Because of that, I was often tasked with keeping hostile creatures away from the entrance to the cavern."

Kankri raised his eyebrows. "But then why can't you hunt?"

She made a face at him, finally looking up from her work. "It's a lot easier scaring away a wild animal than it is killing and eating it, Kankri." Her expression was exasperated, but her tone was fond.

The little redblood nodded, waiting for her to continue. When the Dolorosa looked back down at his pants, checking her progress, she began to speak again. "Guarding the cavern was a dull job, because I was often out there alone. By then, animals knew better than to stray too close to the cavern entrance, but I still had to fight off the occasional growlbeast. Thankfully," she finished the stitch and moved on to the other knee, "I was good with grubs, and they fascinated me. When I wasn't guarding the cavern entrance, I helped search the grub caves to make sure the lusii had found all of the grubs. If a couple were leftover, we took them and helped them through the night before leaving them for the lusii to find again."

Kankri rubbed a delicate circle just around the scratch covering his knee. As he watched, a single drop of bright candy red blood oozed out. He quickly caught it with the tip of his finger to keep it from staining his shorts.

"It was very rare that the lusii miss the grubs that survive the trials; they're very thorough." She looked up, obviously wondering if he wanted to hear more.

Kankri thought a little bit before asking, "What was your favorite part about living there?"

"Hmm. . . ." The Dolorosa's hands stopped moving momentarily as she thought. Kankri watched her unblinkingly. It was clear when she decided on a certain memory; her jade eyes lit up and her face split into a wide smile.

Something unpleasant and hard settled into the pit of Kankri's stomach, and he wrestled with the strange emotion, unsure what it was and why it made him want to simultaneously hide in a hole for the rest of his life and hug his mother.

He was distracted from his thoughts when the Dolorosa spoke. "Trolls in general are a violent race, little one. However, we jadebloods rarely fought. Perhaps it was in our natures. Perhaps it was simply the way we were raised or our lifestyle. Or maybe it was just the fact that barely any of us could use a weapon well. Either way, we all ate in one of the larger caverns together. And at the end of every day, when most were finished eating, we'd dance." She was grinning openly now. "We learned all sorts of dances from the older jadebloods. Slow dances, fast dances, silly ones, formal ones and everything in between. Some of us even sang, as well."

The cold ball in his stomach was growing. Trying to disguise it, Kankri asked, "What's a dance?"

To his surprise, the Dolorosa put down her sewing supplies and stood. She took his small hands in hers and began to hum a soft tune. She began to sway with the music, her feet darting out and tapping spots on the floor. Kankri blinked. "Wha—"

Her grin widened and she picked him up, twirling through their cave, her skirt fanning out around her. Taken off guard, Kankri let out a shout of laughter. The ball in his stomach vanished. Her song began to come out faster, and she stumbled over the steps she'd forgotten. But for the most part, she was able to keep him in the air, jumping and spinning, both of their laughters mingling in the air.

She let him back onto the ground far too early. She stopped humming momentarily, and the dance slowed. This time, when she opened her mouth, she sang.

Kankri watched her feet carefully, mimicking her movements as best he could. She noticed and slowed down even more to allow him time to learn. The song was slow and rolling, and it spoke of a simpler time when nothing mattered but the trees and the sky. Kankri didn't really understand it; he was too focused on the actual steps to focus on the lilting lullaby.

By the time they'd stopped, he'd more or less figured out how to do it. He grinned widely at her. "That's fun." They were both sweating and gasping for breath, but both of them were grinning.

Her smile became soft and she gently ruffled the hair between his horns. "I can teach you more."

Kankri nodded earnestly. "I'd love that."

She let him go and sat down, grabbing his torn pants again. Kankri settled next to her, leaning against her side, watching as the needle resumed its own dance. He thought about what she'd said and the stories she had told him about her life before. "Do you miss it?" His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and he buried his head in her skirt.

The Dolorosa looked down at him, and, as his face was hidden, he didn't see the frown that turned the corners of her mouth down. "Sometimes," she admitted, choosing her words carefully, "I miss the joy after discovering that all of the grubs had passed the trials. I miss the quiet nights and the songs." She put the needle and thread down, gently stroking his soft hair instead. "What's wrong, Kankri?"

The wiggler tensed, and she lifted him up, hugging him to her chest. Still not looking at her, he half-mumbled, "Would it have been better if you'd never found me?"

The Dolorosa's eyes widened, and she immediately turned the young troll around so that he was facing her. " _Don't say that_ ," she whispered fiercely, "Don't ever think that, Kankri!" Watery red tears dripped from his eyes and he protested, "But we're always hiding. And the drones come after us."

She pursed her lips and continued, "I promise you that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Do you understand that?"

He nodded wordlessly.

She hugged him tightly. "I don't care that we have to struggle to survive. The struggle makes it worth drawing breath; you know this." She planted a kiss on the top of his head. "I wouldn't trade you for the world, little Kankri."

The boy hugged her back, nuzzling her shoulder. "Mother?"

"Yes, Kankri?"

There was a brief silence in which Kankri lifted his face and gave her a watery smile. "Nothing." Because there was no way to describe the almost incomprehensible love he felt for her, no way to describe the gratitude he held in his heart or the memories she had gifted to him. He could only hope that she would understand anyways.

She smiled back, and he knew that she understood. She understood everything.


	3. Dreamed (4)

**Sorry! I guess I accidentally deleted this chapter. Haha I'll fix this AN eventually.**

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Meulin Leijon sauntered through the woods, singing a silly little song of her own invention. She leaped over logs, danced around trees, and basically made a fool of herself. But it didn't matter, because nobody was around to see her. She'd been living in the woods ever since her lusus had died to keep from being culled.

The oliveblood broke into a run and kicked off from a boulder. Once in the air, she grabbed a low-hanging branch and swung into the air. A whoop of laughter escaped her throTheat, and Meulin landed on the ground on all fours. She drew in a deep breath, about to burst into the chorus of her made-up song, when she stopped abruptly.

The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils and stuck to the back of her mouth.

Immediately, the feral troll dropped onto a crouch and fell silent, moving rapidly and silently in the direction of the scent. It wasn't long before she came across a creek that bubbled through the trees. Lying on the sandy bank was a dying hoofbeast of the type that produced milk. It had probably been attacked by something and crawled into the forest to die. Delighted, Meulin unsheathed the claws in her gloves to put the poor beast out of its misery.

And who was she to say no to prey that had fallen so easily into her claws?

Meulin darted towards the hoofbeast just as a figure leaped out of the trees on the opposite end of the bank. The oliveblood immediately changed tactics, leaping between the figure and the hoofbeast, teeth bared in a snarl and claws at the ready.

The other troll blinked at her in surprise, clearly taken off guard. He was male, roughly her age, with short horns that were little more than bumps. He wore a colorless cloak over his shoulders, but the hood was down.

She hissed. "This is my prey!" she declared hotly.

The troll raised his eyebrows and retorted, "You didn't kill it, did you?"

Meulin hesitated. If he had killed it, then it was rightfully his. She was a huntress with honor, thank you very much. "Well . . . did you?"

The troll flushed, his cheeks turning red. So he was a rustblood then. "Um . . . no." When he saw the triumph in her eyes, he hastened to add, "But neither did you."

Meulin growled and swiped the air with her claw. "I don't care! It's mine, so back off!"

The troll held up his hands placatingly, revealing a sickle strapped to his waist. "I just want food for my m— custodian and I."

"I need food too," she replied, careful not to mention that she would be feeding only one mouth, "Go find your own hoofbeast!"

The troll took a step closer. His eyes hadn't turned the color of his blood yet — although if he _was_ roughly her age then it would soon — so they were still black. She bared her teeth and raised her claws threateningly. "We can share," he offered, "There's more than enough to feed a few mouths."

"Exactly," she said, "Good enough to keep me from starving for a couple days." Meulin flipped her ragged black hair over her shoulder. "So scram!"

The troll took another tentative step closer, opening his mouth to say something else. That did it. Meulin launched herself at him, tackling him and sending them both into the creek. Water splashed everywhere, thoroughly soaking both trolls.

The other troll let out a yelp of surprise and shoved her off of him. Meulin flipped and landed on the opposite shore. Her feet touched the sandy ground for barely a moment before she leaped at him again, slashing at his arm with her claws.

The troll finally drew his sickle, parrying her vicious swipes as she drove him further away from the hoofbeast. Finally he shouted, "Alright, you can have it!"

Meulin danced backwards, a little disappointed that she hadn't even hadn't even managed to scratch him. Planting herself firmly between him and her meal, she said, "Good. Now get out of my territory."

The troll scowled at her. "It's just a stupid hoofbeast."

"I said go away!" She stepped menacingly forwards, and he hastily retreated, never taking his eyes from her. Once satisfied that he'd left, Meulin turned to begin devouring her meal.

Only later would she wonder what the strange troll had been doing in the woods, and why'd he'd been scavenging like she had been. He had said he had a lusus, so he couldn't possibly be hiding like she was. Or maybe he was a fugitive, but just for a different reason. Meulin shrugged. Either way, she'd have to keep an eye out for drones in case he turned her in.


	4. Dreamed (9)

**I'd apologize for the long wait, but I have been busy for the first time in my life recently. Haha lucky I have quite a few chapters written in advance, right? Anyways, I hope you enjoy the new chapter! It's a little break from young Signless, which is nice, right?**

 **Timewise: This goes after chapter 3 (which is where we met Meulin).**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck; Andrew Hussie does. Also, as a general warning due to the nature of Alternia, I have no medical experience, so please don't do the things I write about in here!**

 **Word count: 1788  
**

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The Signless paced back and forth, narrowly avoiding the campfire in the middle of their fairly small clearing. The Disciple, sitting at the line where the trees started again, watched him, her brows drawn together into a frown, her book of transcripts clutched in her lap. Abruptly, the Signless growled and stopped walking. "They should be here already."

The Disciple nibbled her lower lip, eyes bright with worry. "When did we get separated from them?"

He ran his hand through his hair and resumed his pacing. "I don't know. Maybe a couple of hours ago?" The Signless and his followers had gone into the city to preach, but when they'd left, they'd been ambushed by half a dozen threshecutioners. The group had run, but had been forced to split up to prevent the threshecutioners from finding their current campsite. Meulin and Kankri had been able to lose the three on their tails when they'd entered a part of the forest that was relatively north to their campsite. They hadn't seen the Psiioniic or the Dolorosa since.

The Disciple nervously opened up her book and began flipping through the pages, barely even looking at the words she'd written. "Maybe they had to run a little further away and got hungry and decided to hunt?" she asked nervously, "You know Mituna is a powerful psionic." She bit down hard on her lip. "They're . . . they're probably fine."

The Signless didn't answer, and the only sound was the crunch of his footsteps and the swish of his cloak as he continued his never-ending pacing, worried red eyes watching for any sign of his mother and best friend.

He found it not long after. The Disciple's eyes widened and she shot to her feet, her book sent flying into the dirt. "Kank—" she began, having smelt blood. But her matesprit was already running. She followed and soon caught a glimpse of two figures limping forwards unevenly. The shorter one appeared to be practically holding the other one, and as she watched, both staggered and fell. The Disciple let out a cry, and the Signless dove forwards to catch them.

The diminutive oliveblood caught up and knelt to support the Psiioniic's weight. He mumbled into her ear, "Rosa . . . help . . . everywhere." The Disciple hastily checked him over for injuries. Nothing but small scratches, although his knee looked dislocated. His voice slurred, "M'fine. . . . Justh tired. Rosa. . . ."

She looked up at the Signless and froze in horror. Her matesprit was clutching the body of his mother and _oh god how is all that blood even possible._ Jade on the ground, on their clothes, on the trees. For a moment, she wasn't sure where it was even coming from, only that it was and quickly. But then she noticed a long gash across the Dolorosa's chest. The female troll hung limply in her son's arms, blood bubbling at her lips as she breathed erratically. "Oh _god_ ," the Disciple gasped.

The Signless was standing frozen, crimson eyes wide with shock, his arms shaking. She took control without even thinking about it. "Kankri! Get her to the camp and do what you can to stop the bleeding." The Signless nodded dully and did as he was told. She bit her lip and asked the Psiioniic, "Can you walk?"

He grunted, "Maybe."

She let him use her as a crutch, half-dragging him towards their welcoming campfire. She would ask him what had happened later. For now, they just needed to make sure that they would all survive through the night. As soon as they broke through the trees and into their little clearing, she carefully dropped the Psiioniic down against a log. "Are you good for a little bit?"

He nodded, eyes opening and shutting hazily. "Juss need resth," he mumbled.

She slapped his cheek gently. "Don't you dare fall asleep." The Disciple ran over to her matesprit and the Dolorosa. Her stomach clenched at the horrid stench of all that blood, but she crouched next to them anyways. She'd worry about the mess later. The Signless was attempting to bind the wound, but his hands were shaking. The sight of his injured mother had clearly addled his think pan.

The Disciple gently moved him out of the way and took over. The Dolorosa was their resident healer; she had learned most of her skills while taking care of Kankri as a child. The Disciple didn't let him see it, but she was terrified. She had no idea what she was doing. She was only doing the things she'd seen the Dolorosa do before, and now she wished that she had asked different questions and paid closer attention.

The Signless sat back and buried his head in his hands, moaning, "This is all my fault."

The Disciple, despite the storm in her head, snapped, "Of course it isn't."

He continued, "I'm the one who separated us."

"If we'd stayed together," the exhausted goldblood mumbled, "we would've all ended up like Rosa." The Disciple thanked whatever entities were listening that the Psiioniic had recovered enough to calm his friend.

Kankri merely let out a pained groan, lacing his fingers in his hair. The Disciple was doing exactly what the Dolorosa had done when the Psiioniic had gotten the wound on his leg a couple sweeps back. After removing the Dolorosa's ruined shirt, she carefully stitched the wound up, but she was silently wishing that she'd asked different questions at the time, wishing that she'd thought to ask to be taught how to do this, wishing that she knew what she was doing.

The Dolorosa stirred and a half-sound escaped her lips. The Disciple froze and she whispered, "Dolorosa, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing. I—"

The rainbow drinker's jade eyes fluttered open, but they were hazy with pain. "Mituna. . . ." she breathed.

The Disciple forcibly stopped her hands from shaking, taking deep breaths. "What about him?"

"They got . . . him." She cut off abruptly as the Disciple continued stitching the wound, a horrible scream tearing from her lips.

The Signless leaped to his feet, and the Disciple cried, "Kankri! Go boil some water!" He needed something to do, and she frantically tried to hurry. The Dolorosa's eyes were growing unfocused again, and, in a desperate attempt to keep her conscious, she said, "Mituna is fine, but he's too tired to tell us what happened."

"'cause I was using psiis to get 'em," the exhausted goldblood tried to retort.

The Disciple bit her lip nervously. The Psiioniic must have used an incredible amount of power to make him this tired. Blood no longer poured from the wound, and she finished stitching it hesitantly, not quite sure if she was supposed to knot it or what.

She looked around for the Signless, but he was having trouble starting a fire. Pursing her lips, she stroked a few strands of hair from the Dolorosa's face. "You'll live," she whispered, "You can't not live."

The Dolorosa's jade eyes caught on the Disciple's olive ones, and then the older troll fell limp, her eyes sliding shut. Her breathing, which rattled in her chest, slowly mellowed out until it was even.

Later that night, once the Disciple was sure that the Dolorosa was in a stable condition and that the Psiioniic wouldn't die of dehydration while he slept, she approached her matesprit. He was sitting beside his mother, holding her hand and rubbing his thumb against her palm, brows drawn low over his eyes. The Disciple brushed her lips over the crease between his eyebrows and somehow managed to muster up a warm smile. "Hey there, love," she murmured, gently taking his hands in hers and pulling them away from the Dolorosa's. She was starting to worry about him, and the darkness behind his ember-like eyes.

He looked up at her blankly, eyes still far away. Drawing him away from both invalids, she settled him down by the fire she'd started after he'd given up and went to sit beside his mother and friend. "Kankri?" she asked, her smile faltering. Now kneeling in front of him, she moved her hands to his face, tracing the lines that seemed to have appeared overnight. He sighed and leaned into her touch, his eyes closing.

"I never thought she'd be hurt," he breathed.

The Disciple curled up on the ground beside him, resting her head on the crook of her arm. "It was bound to happen eventually, considering what we do."

The Signless reluctantly lay down beside her, and she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. His arms tightened around her, and he whispered into her hair, "But not her."

"We all had our moments," the Disciple replied, remembering vividly the other times that any of them had been seriously injured. She hated it more than anything, hated watching helplessly as the people she cared about hurt. Each time, it had been the Dolorosa who had kept everyone calm, the Dolorosa who ensured that they all endured and emerged from each situation alive, and all the stronger for it.

The Signless' hold on her tightened, and she kissed him softly. His voice sounded again, and she could feel the vibration in his skin. "But not her," he repeated, like a child in denial. She didn't know what to say, and so she merely rubbed her fingers along his shoulder. After a short moment, he continued, "She was the one who raised me, you know?"

"I do," the Disciple murmured. After all, she'd spent the last couple sweeps of her childhood raised by the same troll.

"She was always there," the Signless continued, rolling over and staring at the sky. She shifted so that her head rested on his chest. "Mother always felt invincible."

She pressed her lips to his, smoothing out the creases in his face with her fingers. "It'll get better, love," she whispered. "You've seen it. We'll fix things, and none of us will ever have to hurt again."

He looked down at her, but she didn't see the look he gave her. A sad smile settled over his lips. "You're a miracle, Meulin."

She frowned. "You're the miracle, Kankri."

"No." She felt his lips against her hair. "I fell apart back there. But you — you were brilliant." Her cheeks flushed olive and she heard him laugh softly. "I always knew you were braver than me."

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 **Please review!**


	5. Dreamed (5)

**I haven't updated in a while, have I? Oops. . . . Anyways, have another lil!Signless chapter! + Meulin, which is always fun. I think this is the only proper one with them as kids. The last one I have written with them as kids is more a drabble than anything else.**

 **Timewise: This goes after chapter 3 (where we meet Meulin for the first time) and before chapter 4 (where we sort-of get introduced to Psii).**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Homestuck or any of the characters here; they belong to Andrew Hussie.**

 **Word count: 2,575**

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Meulin hadn't forgotten about the strange cloaked troll she had fought with over the hoofbeast. But as the days wore on, she thought about him less and less. However, now that she was aware of his presence in the forest, she saw signs of his existence when she was out hunting or foraging. He was awful at covering his tracks. She never actually saw him, though, and she wished vehemently that he would leave what she considered _her_ forest and stop eating prey that was hers.

Now, however, she wasn't thinking about him. Winter was closing in fast and she was walking down to the waterfall to fish. It was only a mile or so from her cave, not far at all. She hiked quickly, wanting to have as much time to fish as possible, humming under her breath as she always did. She hadn't sung properly ever since discovering the other troll in the forest. She wondered, often with a deep green blush across her cheeks, if he'd seen her dancing. The very thought made her berate herself for being such an oblivious fool and not paying attention to her surroundings. She could hear the roar of the waterfall now, and could see where the swiftly moving river went careening over the cliff. This part of her territory didn't have many trees at all. It was mostly hard rocks and shrubby bushes.

She looked absentmindedly at the other side of the river, which had several berry bushes. She knew there were much more at the bottom of the waterfall, but it was very hard to get to and required clambering down boulders to get down there. Maybe she'd go tomorrow with her bag and see what little berries had survived.

Meulin stopped just at the edge of the cliff, grinning at the thunderous sound the waterfall made as it smashed into the rocks below. The spray caught the light and a rainbow arced from the frothing waters. The oliveblood clutched her spear and moved back a little ways. A line of rocks formed a precarious path to the opposite side. Using the butt of her spear to make sure that the rocks weren't wobbly, Meulin hopped cautiously from rock to rock, every once in a while looking up at the berry bushes on the other side. The rocks were slippery, and there were several moments where she thought for sure she would tumble over. The water roared around her feet, mist spraying her and making her shiver. She was about halfway across when she paused, confused. She didn't remember this part.

From where she was standing, there were only two options to continue on to the next safe rock. One was a log wedged precariously between the two rocks, but poking it with her spear informed her that it wasn't secure. The other choice was a rock half-submerged in the water, but it was too close to the cliff's edge for her liking. Standing there, Meulin nibbled her lower lip, brows drawn together. Had she hopped to the wrong rock earlier? She could have sworn that she'd never gotten this close to the edge before. She prodded the log again, and the water submerged it completely. When it emerged again, it was dark with water and even less secure than it had been before. If she stepped on that, she would definitely fall. Meulin poked the rock near the cliff with the spear. It was rock steady and held firm, although its surface was glistening with moisture. Taking a deep breath, Meulin lunged at it.

For a second, her foot landed safely on it, and she grinned triumphantly. Her grin vanished as the log lurched from its spot, careening towards her. Frantically, she leaped to the next rock. Her foot slipped and, with a terrified scream, she fell. Within seconds the current had swept her off of the cliff and down the waterfall.

* * *

Kankri's basket barely had a dozen berries in it, and he'd already been here for hours. He pushed aside a clump of leaves, searching for more berries. He and his mother desperately needed them to survive the winter, and he was determined to keep looking until he was certain that there wasn't a single one left. Unfortunately for him, the animals had had the same idea, and they'd already come through here while he'd been sleeping. Gritting his teeth, he moved on to the next bush. He could hear the roar of the waterfall now. A couple more bushes and there wouldn't be any more.

I hope Mother's having better luck, he thought. The Dolorosa was searching for roots and edible plants on the other side of the forest, where animals hopefully couldn't reach. A high-pitched scream suddenly echoed, bouncing off of the rocks. Birds scattered into the sky, and Kankri whirled towards the sound just as it abruptly cut off. The waterfall. Without thinking, he dropped his basket of berries and sprinted towards the waterfall. He arrived barely in time to see a dark shape as it tumbled down, thrown mercilessly from boulder to boulder. The shape swept past him and Kankri did one of the stupidest things he'd ever done in his life.

He threw off his cloak and jumped in.

The water was freezing cold and a shock to the mutant troll. For a second, he forgot how to swim. But then he remembered and kicked up, gasping for breath. The current was pushing him downstream faster than he'd have thought it possible, and boulders hidden beneath the water scraped him. He caught sight of pitch black hair further downstream and swam towards it. Luckily, the person had gotten caught on a branch, and he grabbed onto them, wrapping his arms around their chest. Kicking as hard as he could, he struggled to swim back to shore. But the troll was dead weight and the cold was painful and he kept inhaling mouthfuls of freezing water. After what felt like an eternity, he had dragged them both up onto the shore. Both trolls sat there, hacking and coughing up water. They were both shivering violently. As soon as he'd stopped vomiting up river water, Kankri hurriedly checked to make sure that none of his candy-red blood was visible. The water had washed away most of it, and the only really noticeable one was the gash on the back of his hand. Dimly, he realized that must have happened when he'd torn the troll off of the branch. Pulling down his sleeve to cover it, he looked at the troll he'd rescued. She was lying on the rocky ground, still coughing up water. His jaw dropped, immediately recognizing her as the troll who he'd fought with a perigree or so ago. Her wild black hair was sopping wet and undoubtedly extremely heavy, and her eyes — vaguely olive in their middles — were half-lidded as she lay there. She was thin for a troll, no doubt caused from living in the woods, and extremely short. If he had to guess, he'd say that most of her weight was her hair.

Olive blood oozed from the multiple scratches that crossed her grey skin, and she moaned in pain once she'd finished hacking up water.

Hastily, Kankri kneeled over her. "What's wrong?"

She hissed furiously, dragging herself laboriously away from him. From her movements, he recognized that she'd done something to her leg. It had probably broken, at the very least, from her fall. He backed up to gave her space. "I won't hurt you," he promised, eyeing her like he would a feral meowbeast, "but you're hurt. You need help."

She snarled wordlessly, although she'd stopped trying to get away and merely sat there, gasping for breath and blinking tiredly.

As unobtrusively as he could, Kankri held out his uninjured hand. "Here, let me help you." Maybe she sensed no ill will on his part, or maybe she knew she would die if left alone, or maybe she knew her leg wouldn't heal by itself before winter. Either way, the oliveblood stopped growling and cautiously took his hand. Her round eyes were wary and she flinched when he gently helped her to her feet. "Can you walk?" Kankri asked, relieved that she'd agreed to come. He couldn't in good conscience leave a troll to die in the woods, and it would be a lot easier to get her to come with him with her coming of her own free will.

The troll nodded, although she practically collapsed as soon as she tried to take a step. To her eternal credit, she wasn't crying, although her face was stark white and her teeth were clenched. Kankri guessed that he probably would cry if he had a broken leg. And so he picked her up as carefully as he could so that she was behind him, linking his arms beneath her knees, and walked her up the gentle slope that led back to the waterfall.

The river had taken them surprisingly far in what felt like not much time at all. Kankri was tired long before he even caught sight of the spot where he'd dropped his cloak, although he of course merely grit his teeth and kept walking. The oliveblood's grip around his neck was tight, and she shivered in the cold air. It wasn't long before she relaxed, propping her chin on his head, between his horns. For some reason, this didn't make Kankri uncomfortable. In this world of hunt or be hunted, it would make any troll uncomfortable to have a near-stranger's arms around their neck.

Kankri couldn't care less.

He was relieved when they finally got to the base of the waterfall, which thundered on as if nothing had happened. The oliveblood hissed at the sight of it, and he smiled wryly. Luckily, they were on the right side of the river and didn't have to cross it. He doubted he could've leap-frogged across the rocks with her on his back. Soon he had bent down and retrieved his cloak and basket (all of the berries were either gone or smushed, unfortunately). "You alright?" he asked.

It was the first time that either had spoken. "I'm fine," she said after a heartbeat. "Although I lost my spear." He nodded and started walking into the forest, careful to duck lower than usual when going under branches and walking as steadily as he could to avoid jostling her leg. She was the one who spoke again, but only after he'd been walking in this manner for a while. "Why'd you save me?"

Kankri shrugged, panting slightly from the exertion. "Hmm. I suppose I couldn't just leave you, could I?"

The oliveblood didn't say anything. Because he couldn't talk and breathe at the same time, he didn't press her, choosing to focus on the route he was taking and praying they didn't run into any predators.

Shoot. The Dolorosa was going to kill him when he got back. He'd been gone for much longer than he'd promised, he didn't have any food, and he was bringing back another troll. Brilliant. He was dead.

"I'm Meulin," the oliveblood offered, fingers tightening in his dark hair.

"Kankri," he replied. Her name fit her; she was very similar to a meowbeast.

She purred and then asked, "Where are we going?"

"We're going to see my . . . companion." Normal trolls didn't have mothers, and he didn't quite trust Meulin with the knowledge of his troll custodian yet. She tensed, and he hastily added, "She's nice."

Meulin relaxed and nodded. Soon they got to Kankri's and his mother's current cave, which was both larger than their last one and drier. A fire crackled just outside, and the Dolorosa leaped to her feet when she heard his footsteps.

Her eyes widened when she saw him and she rushed towards him. Meulin hissed, and her grip tightened.

The Dolorosa stopped and didn't move, understanding immediately. Her jade eyes searched his black ones questioningly, and he tried to tell her what had happened through his gaze. It obviously didn't work, because her frown merely deepened.

In the voice she used when he was scared or hurt, the Dolorosa said to Meulin, "You're safe here. I won't hurt you." Kankri had learned a long time ago that there was something special about his mother's voice. Later he would realize that it wasn't only her tone. It was simply the fact that she always spoke the truth. Because she didn't know what it was to lie, she never had to think about her tone or her words. It was all natural.

Meulin relaxed, and Kankri let her slip down. The oliveblood sat on the floor, shoulders hunched forwards.

As the Dolorosa created a splint for her leg, softly explaining what she was doing so as to not cause alarm, Kankri sat next to Meulin, talking to his mother all the while. "She fell down the waterfall. I'm pretty sure she didn't hit her head, and I didn't get hurt. I jumped in to pull her out because I knew you'd get mad at me if I let her wash away without doing anything. The water was very cold. I lost all the berries I'd gathered, too. Sorry."

She didn't reply, although she nodded. To Meulin, she said, "This is going to hurt a little bit." She set to work setting and splinting the younger troll's leg, working deftly and with murmured reassurances.

As soon as she was done, Kankri leaped to his feet, about to go see if they had any food. The Dolorosa's arm shot out and her fingers wrapped around his wrist. She twisted sharply upwards and he yelped. She somehow always knew where he was hurt, and he didn't know if that was because she was a rainbow drinker or because she was his mother.

She glared at him when she saw the cut, but his eyes flashed warningly to Meulin. The Dolorosa's eyes cleared instantly and she said, "Go and wrap that up, dear." She turned to attend to Meulin, asking her if she was hungry and telling her she was safe.

Kankri darted outside of Meulin's field of vision to bandage the cut and winced upon seeing the candy red blood that stained his shirt. He sighed. This had been one of his favorites too. He shrugged off the shirt and hastily grabbed a new one. When he returned, Meulin was lying fast asleep and the Dolorosa was boiling water. He sat down opposite the fire and she fixed her jade eyes on him. His cheeks flushed bright red.

"Explain," she said shortly. Her tone was firm, but she wasn't angry.

"I did!" he protested. She raised her eyebrows and he hastily added, "buuuuut I'll do it better now."

He was pleased when her lips twitched and she nodded. Relaxing, Kankri launched into the tale of how he'd found Meulin.

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	6. Passed (1)

**Soooooooo guess who forgot to update this! Sorry about that... Anyways, here's another chapter, this time with a young Dolorosa! I'm excited for the next chapter :D It's introducing my favorite characters.**

 **Timewise: This goes first, obviously, considering the Dolorosa is just a kid in this one. This goes before chapter one (where the Dolorosa and Kankri bond).**

 **Disclaimer: Andrew Hussie owns Homestuck.**

 **Word count: 1,478  
**

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A young jadeblood leaped nimbly off of the narrow path carved midway up the wall of the cavernous tunnel. She landed on the bottom, narrowly missing a thin ribbon of water that twined lazily down the center of the large tunnel. Needle sharp stalagmites rose from the earth, all in varying shapes and sizes.

This was the first room in a series of tunnels where the newly hatched grubs had their Trials. Old blood of every color of the rainbow stained the floors and stalagmites, but the jadeblood paid that no mind. She wandered around one of the taller stalagmites, tracing a line along it with a finger. A voice called down, "Get out of there, girl!"

The young jadeblood looked up, dark lips twisted into a scowl. She glared at the older jadeblood standing on the path she had deserted only seconds ago. "I'm just looking!"

He was one of the few male jadebloods, and he shouted back, "Do you want to be eaten by some stray creature?!"

When she ignored him and wandered around a column, ducking underneath a stalactite, he snapped, "Porrim Maryam, get up here right this instant!"

Porrim growled under her breath but obeyed, vaulting off of multiple stalagmites to get up. "But, Greyol," she complained, "I was just looking."

Greyol glared at her. He was an older troll with streaks of grey in his hair. His horns were similar to Porrim's but more wavy and blunt. "We don't let wigglers like you down there because you might impale yourself on a stalagmite."

Porrim retorted, "I'm not a wiggler and I'm not stupid enough to die in such a dumb way."

Greyol rubbed his temples with his forefingers and kept walking. When a jadeblood became old enough (and responsible enough) to start learning how to take care of the Mother Grub, their lusus would bring them to the caverns. The Mother Grub would then pick a troll to mentor the young one and teach them how to work and live in the caverns until the young troll came of age and was allowed to do things independently. Porrim was Greyol's first apprentice, and he was sincerely glad that he had never had one before. He didn't know how other wigglers were, but Porrim was fiercely independent and all too willing to try new things. If anything, he would guess that she was trying to make enough of a fuss that they decided she was more trouble than she was worth and send her back where she came from. Unfortunately for the girl, there had never been a jadeblood who had ever _not_ taken care of the Mother Grub.

On to the next room. Here, the water turned into a fast-moving river that split into several sections and careened wildly around tiny islands and peninsulas. In the previous room, the grubs had to get through the maze of stalagmites and avoid the grub-eating creatures that were spread throughout the entirety of the trial caverns. Here, they needed to learn how to swim — and quickly.

Once again, Porrim hopped down and leaped languidly from island to island. "Girl!" roared Greyol, "Get back up here before I flay you alive!"

She shouted over her shoulder, "I can swim, thank you very much!"

Greyol groaned. He was supposed to be giving her a tour of this side of the caverns, but she was choosing to become intimately familiar with the caves in more hands-on manner than was necessary. Irritably, because he had scolded her countless times already, he cried, "Porrim Maryam!"

The girl flinched, recognizing that she had finally gone too far. She still took her time returning, however, and scowled as she followed him meekly into the other rooms.

Perigrees later, and Greyol still wasn't sure if Porrim was worth the trouble. As they were both currently on running a patrol to make sure no beasts had managed to get into the caverns, he had plenty of time to reflect upon this. She wasn't even paying attention, choosing instead to play in the mud as if she'd never seen water before.

"Girl!" Greyol barked.

She retorted, "Elder!" After so much time in each other's company, she had learned to bite back. Every other jadeblood living in the caverns would be able to confirm that 90% of their time together was spent arguing. The other 10% was Greyol running after Porrim while she went about another hare-brained scheme.

"Get out of the mud before you get your dress dirty!"

Porrim scowled at him and dramatically stood, shaking off her jade green skirts. "Stop telling me what to do!" she shouted.

Greyol narrowed his eyes. He recognized that Porrim was an independent young troll and that he annoyed her more often than he didn't, but this time something was wrong with her tone. "Get out of that ditch," he ordered.

She swooped and scooped up a handful of dirt. Before he could realize what she was doing, she lobbed it at his face. He ducked, but the movement sent him tumbling into the ditch until he skidded to a stop at her feet. She crossed her arms, eyes stormy. "Serves you right," she declared.

Greyol staggered to his feet. He grumbled to himself, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Porrim took off down the ditch despite the fact that it wound parallel to the actual road, and he hurried after her. Greyol was by no means a soft troll. In fact, he was considered one of the grumpiest trolls in the whole caverns. And yet he couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse for snapping at her. "What's wrong?" he asked gruffly, refusing to meet her gaze.

She spun around to glare at him, her knee-length skirt flaring out around her. "Everyone keeps telling me what to do."

He opened his mouth, but she added, "Don't do that, Porrim, you might break your neck. Don't touch that, Porrim, you might cut yourself. Don't eat that Porrim, it might be poisonous. Don't walk, Porrim, you might trip and smash your skull. Don't breathe, Porrim, because you're a safety hazard to everyone here and you're better off dead anyways!" She spun on her heel and kept walking, steps stiff and angry. Greyol was speechless. He'd had no idea that he wasn't the only one constantly chasing after her in a useless effort to try and keep her (and the things around her) relatively safe.

"Porrim, I don't tell you that to spite you—" he began.

She turned around again and hissed, her dark eyes burning. He blinked. "Of course you don't," she snapped, "I'm beyond sick of being told not to do something because of something that _might_ happen! I bet you don't know about all those carvings in the floors of the Trial caves! I bet you don't know that the rivers have fish in them! I bet you don't know that there are tons of other tunnels we've never mapped!"

He paled. "You went beyond the maps?!" he demanded. Did she have any idea how dangerous that was? Did she have any idea that the ground could give way before her feet at any given moment?

"See?" she said snidely, "You're thinking about everything that could've happened."

Greyol sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I only tell you those things to protect you."

Her glare grew fiercer. "As if," she snorted. "I'm sick of your shit. I'm sick of all of this. I can take care of myself. I know my limits. I know what's going beyond the line. I refuse to sit back and follow the rules merely because of something that _might_ happen. And if it does happen, then it's my lesson to learn and mine alone. Do you understand?"

Greyol stared at her. He could have said so many things at that moment. He could have told her she was being a stubborn wiggler. But he didn't. He swallowed his pride and nodded, finally accepting that Porrim Maryam was far more than the sum of her parts. "I do." She blinked in surprise. He hesitantly added, swallowing hard, "But . . . you'll have to excuse me if I do slip up again. I've spent sweeps trying to keep idiots like you out of trouble."

She giggled. "No problem. As long as you accept that you've finally met an idiot who knows what she's doing."

"Agreed."

She continued walking, although there was a new bounce in her steps.

Greyol cleared his throat. "Er . . . what was that you said about tunnels beyond the maps?"

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	7. Summoned (13)

**Oh thank god FFN is finally letting me upload chapters again. It was either the website or my computer (neither would surprise me). I still can't upload images, which sucks. Anyways! Have the first chapter from the Summoner's series of events!**

 **Timewise: This goes after chapter four (the one where the Dolorosa was hurt) and before chapter 8.**

 **Disclaimer: Andrew Hussie owns Homestuck.**

 **Word count: 3,744**

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The gang of Nabbers waited patiently in the space underneath the wharfs. They muttered amongst themselves occasionally, but otherwise remained completely still, silent and watchful. They could hear the bustle above, as ships were loaded and unloaded. They could hear the cry of birds and the shouts of angry trolls chasing strangers away from their goods. The Nabbers exchanged bored glances. Nobody ever came below the wharf unless they didn't want to be seen by the general public. A perfect spot for Nabbers.

There were Nabbers throughout all of Alternia, although few were successful. They were trolls who had lost their hives or their lusii or were deformed or alien in some way, and should have been culled. In an effort to preserve their own lives, they banded together to bring down other trolls who were also running from the law. This particular gang, however, was very successful. Because their headquarters were beneath the wharf, they often caught stowaways, which were normally yellowbloods, and worth lots of money.

They heard movement, and all six Nabbers immediately turned all of their attention towards the noise. A troll was under the wharfs. Feral grins lit up their faces. Without the slightest signal, all six melted into the darkness, silently surrounding the unsuspecting troll.

Sielva was one of the Nabbers. She was the only female, and, as a greenblood, the highest on the hemospectrum of her particular gang. She caught sight of the troll under the wharf and examined them. Female, older than herself. She was crouched down to avoid the low ceiling, and she had a prosthetic arm. Interesting. She also wore an eye patch. From her attire and her weapon, she was very obviously a seafarer. She didn't have fins, and the only colors in her clothes were blue and black.

Sielva grinned and drew her shiv. Having spent sweeps down here with her fellow Nabbers, she knew instinctively when to attack. As one, and as viciously as sharks, the Nabbers descended upon the blueblood.

The blueblood fought back, although she was at the disadvantage. Her sword was more of a liability than a weapon in such a cramped space, and she was outnumbered and surrounded. None of them uttered anything louder than a grunt; anything louder, and those above them would hear. Nobody wanted that. Sielva was briefly confused when Tunyre and Jiklie started fighting against their own gang, although she took them out without the slightest hesitation.

Finally, somebody managed to get a lucky hit in and knock out the blueblood. "Finally," she breathed, winded from the short fight.

Her remaining three companions nodded, each nursing various injuries. Jiklie had managed to give the blueblood a rather deep cut on her forearm before he'd gone insane and Sielva had had to kill him. Sielva sighed tiredly. "What happened to Jiklie and Tunyre?" she demanded, glaring at the bodies of those that had once been her allies.

The short rustblood was doubled over, gasping for breath. He managed, "We—Nabbed—a—blueblood. Some—of—'em—have—mind—control. Flip—'er—over. See—oo—it—is."

Sielva, having recovered the fastest, knelt and flipped over their victim so that they could see her face. She recognized her immediately, of course, and gasped in surprise. Cackling, she hissed, "This is our lucky day, boys." All of their eyes moved from her face to the small blue symbol embroidered into her shoulder.

"Oh my god," gasped the rustblood.

Sielva grinned widely. "If it isn't Mindfang herself."

As quickly as possible, they smuggled her unconscious form outside, dumping the bodies of their allies on the street where they could have been mugged for food. They were careful to keep Mindfang unconscious, because she was known for being able to control other trolls. Of course, the once infamous pirate was now little more than an urban legend, having vanished for sweeps after her supposed execution.

Sielva knew exactly how much money Mindfang was worth, and she was going to waste no time turning her in.

* * *

The group of Nabbers approached a bend in the road. They were sitting in a carriage, Mindfang tied up and covered with a tarp at their feet. Sielva was napping, the rustblood had the reigns, and the other two talked in low tones. None of them were expecting the attack.

It came just as swiftly as theirs had been mere days before. Half-wild trolls swung down from the trees with blades and sharp tools. Beasts of all sorts followed in their wake, howling and snarling. Sielva awoke immediately and spun into battle. For one, terrifying second, she realized that the lead troll had wings. Shocked and awe-stricken, she was taken off guard when he attacked her, his vibrant wings adding speed to his attack. Within mere minutes, all four Nabbers had been tied up and left in the middle of the road. The winged troll let out a wordless roar and snatched Mindfang. His group let out feral cries in return, and they vanished into the trees just as subtly as they'd come.

Sielva let out a yell of anger, furious at the loss of her prize and at her humiliation.

* * *

The Summoner flew away from the Nabbers, mildly confused. Nabbers rarely took only one victim, because one troll was hardly going to save a group of trolls from being culled. He had been expecting to rescue at least three trolls.

The Summoner landed in the clearing he had set up beforehand as a rendezvous point for his gang. They regularly rescued fugitives from the Nabbers, because they were very rarely actual criminals and quite often trolls who merely needed a second chance. Those trolls turned into very loyal allies for the revolution, or at the very least contacts for information in other places.

He gently laid the bundle that was the Nabbers' victim onto the grassy floor. His gang trickled in, excited and talkative after the successful raid. He grinned at their enthusiasm. "Kaiare!"

His closest friend bounded up to him, clearly excited. She was a bronzeblood like him, although more friendly. "Don't worry, we killed them pretty quickly," she assured him. She knew he didn't like to prolong the deaths of fellow lowbloods.

The victim stirred and Kaiare hissed, "You didn't untie them?!"

"I just got there," he retorted. His company retreated to a safe distance as their leader began undoing the knots that surrounded the unconscious troll. Multiple times, they'd rescued Nabber victims only to discover very angry psionics as soon as they pulled away the tarp.

He hissed in anger when he saw the blood that stained the inside of the tarp. It was cerluean, so a fairly high midblood. Certainly not the highest on the hemospectrum that had joined the revolution, but it was up there. As he pulled away the last of the ropes, he found himself staring into the angry eye of a female troll with long hair, although it was tangled and matted. She had one normal eye, although the other was hidden behind an eye patch. There was a gash on her right forearm and the side of her abdomen, the latter bleeding sluggishly.

"Calm down," the Summoner said as soothingly as he could, "We're here to help you." He spread his wings, letting her know that she was not with friends of the government.

Her eyes widened and she dragged herself away from him, clearly shocked. Cerulean blood splattered onto the ground. She stared at his wings and then at his face, her intense cerulean eye drilling into his bronze ones. He smiled at her, trying to calm her.

Her breathing began to speed up and she held one arm in front of her body as if to protect herself.

"It's okay," he promised, "I'm the Summoner."

Her eyes traced his wings again, and his company relaxed now that it was clear she wasn't going to violently attack anybody. Shocked, the cerlueanblood breathed, "Rufioh. . . !"

The Summoner stiffened. Not even Kaiare knew his real name. He withdrew his hand, and his wings fluttered shut. "Who are you?" he demanded. He could sense his company's stares on him, and he swallowed hard.

She struggled to sit up, although she was still bleeding copiously. Good thing highbloods could withstand a lot of damage. A hint of haughtiness crept in to her otherwise shaky voice. "Mindfang. Marquise Spinneret Mindfang."

The Summoner felt his mouth suddenly dry. Oh, God. I just rescued a gamblignant.

Kaiare finally snapped him back into action. She knelt by Mindfang and said, "Ok. Nice to meet you, Marquise. We're going to need to bring you back to our hideout to heal you."

Mindfang was clearly struggling to stay conscious. She nodded, eyes glazing over. The Summoner shook himself and nodded at his friend. "Alright. You guys, start heading back to camp. I'll fly her over; it's faster."

Kaiare nodded and started ordering the other five around. The Summoner trusted her to do the right thing and cautiously picked up Mindfang. She was tense in his arms, although she still hadn't said anything after introducing herself. Slightly disconcerted, the Summoner flapped his wings and took to the air.

The flight to camp wasn't long, although Mindfang finally succumbed and fell limp in his arms halfway there. Her cerulean blood was sticky on his arm, and he could feel some of it trickling down his leg. Well, that was definitely going to stain.

Just as he was dipping down to land at their camp, he decided to fly to the rebellion's headquarters instead. Their camp didn't have enough supplies. He used his communion skills to send a message to Kaiare via a bird, and flew as quickly as possible.

He didn't think twice about bringing an ex-pirate into headquarters; she was hurt, and she needed his help.

* * *

Mindfang healed extraordinarily quickly, as bluebloods tended to, and took to wandering around the treetop village that the rebellion considered its headquarters. She took to the trees very well, considering that she'd lived over water for the majority of her life. She spent the majority of the time wearing a loose pair of breeches and an unbuttoned blouse, bandages encircling her abdomen. Multiple times, they found her half-unconscious from blood loss. She repeatedly went without wearing her bandages despite the doctors' constant assurances that she still needed them. She leapt from branch to branch without thinking about the distance and fell several times.

Kaiare was sick of it. Now that they were back at headquarters, the Summoner was busy doing all sorts of important things, leaving her to attend to Mindfang. Mindfang was a sort of cross between a patient and a prisoner; they aided her as best they could, but they also kept information from her and took great cares to keep her within headquarters.

Needless to say, the ceruleanblood had noticed. Kaiare spent the majority of her time running around after Mindfang. While she'd been fairly silent the days after they rescued her, now she had proved to have a tongue sharper than a whip. She snapped at everybody and insulted them as well. She flirted coyly with the occasional troll, but mostly spent her time stealing things and pulling off dangerous stunts, both of which kept aggravating the injuries she refused to let heal completely.

Now, Kaiare stormed past the guards stationed in front of the Summoner's treehive. She was furious. Bursting into his room, the female troll exploded, "She needs to leave!"

The Summoner, sitting in his nest of leaves and reading, looked up. At her expression, he knew immediately that now wasn't the time to joke around. "Mindfang?"

Kaiare nodded. "Yes," she said, "Who else?"

The Summoner tucked a sliver of ribbon into the book to mark his place and set it aside. "What has she done this time?"

"You mean besides stealing our supplies and leaving them at the tops of trees? Besides breaking bridges and walkways and costing us a fortune in medical supplies?" Kaiare seethed.

The Summoner held up his hands placatingly, but she knew him well enough to see the mischievous gleam behind his eyes.

She groaned. "Don't tell me you're enjoying having her here?!" When he chuckled, she added, "Rufioh."

The Summoner froze, his smile vanishing. "Don't—" he began, voice pained.

But Kaiare was done. She had already spent a week babysitting Mindfang and managing the affairs of those the ex-pirate had wronged. She crossed her arms and snapped, "You could have at least given me the decency of knowing your name, Summoner. Or perhaps I was too lowly? Perhaps you'd rather only beings such as Marquise Spinneret Mindfang know your name? How did she even know your name anyways?!" Her frustration was leaking out, and she knew she shouldn't lash out at the Summoner, but she'd been keeping it all in and now it was finally bursting out. "Summoner, I've trusted you! I've helped you lead your rebellion this far! I've respected you, and I've never asked for your name since the first time I asked! I'd always assumed you had a good reason, but no, it just happens to be something that somebody as discreet as Mindfang knows!"

The Summoner retorted, "I don't even know how she knows!" He was standing now, his wings quivering. He was clearly upset, but Kaiare was sick of pretending she didn't care.

"Of course," she said sarcastically, "Of course. Just one more secret that stupid old Kaiare doesn't need to know!"

The Summoner shook his head, distressed. "No, Kaiare, you don't understand."

She crossed her arms, resolute. "You're supposed to be our leader. How can we trust you if we don't even know your name?"

The Summoner closed his eyes briefly and then opened them. Kaiare calmed, meeting those pained bronze orbs. Slowly, the Summoner breathed, "I promise you, Kaiare, I've never met Mindfang before. I've never even dreamed I'd ever meet her. I've only heard of her. Hell, I've heard the same tales you've been hearing! But I swear on my life: I never would've told her my name in a thousand sweeps." He looked at her beseechingly.

Kaiare narrowed her eyes. "Then how does she know it?"

The Summoner shrugged listlessly, brows drawn together. "I was going to ask her tomorrow."

"Don't," Kaiare said immediately, "Trying to get a straight answer out of her is harder than it was getting the gang to believe you weren't crazy when you started this whole rebellion."

The Summoner winced, remembering that argument. "Ah." He hesitantly added, "Do you really think I should tell them my name?"

Kaiare nodded without waiting even a second. "Positive." At his panicked expression, she added, "I don't know why you're so sensitive about it."

His wings shifted uneasily and he said, "I . . . can't talk about it." Her face fell and he looked down, his face turning brown with shame.

Kaiare pursed her lips but didn't protest. Everybody here had their own demons. She wouldn't be the one to force him to relive his. Instead, she said, "Fine. But tell us all your name, alright?" He nodded and she added gently, "Rufioh, huh?"

He nodded, meeting her eyes. Once again, their was a sparkle in his eyes. He held out his hand, and she stared at it, confused. He said, grinning that lopsided grin of his, "Hello. My name is Rufioh Nitram. Nice to meet you."

Kaiare felt her lips spread into a wide smile. Taking his hand and shaking it, she replied "Kaiare Nettle. The pleasure is all mine."

His eyes were glowing just like they always did, and it made her smile to see that. She hated to see him distressed. And when he ran his fingers through his red and black hair, she was reminded of just how much a nuisance her flushed feelings for him were. She waved and left, inwardly sighing. The stupid red crush that she'd been dealing with ever since he'd first admitted that he had a crazy idea about starting a rebellion still reused to go away.

* * *

Ruther, a rubyblood who had been with the Summoner the day that they'd found Mindfang, stood guard outside the Summoner's treehive. The Summoner insisted that he didn't need guards and that he could take care of himself, but, frankly, he was too important to risk.

The compromise was that there would only be one guard, and the guard would be one of the six trolls that were part of the Summoner's unofficial inner circle, more commonly referred to as simply "the gang": Kaiare, Ruther, Phoryn, Bevvet, Winnia, and Sidnur.

Ruther sighed and fingered the hilt of his battle-axe. He caught sight of a familiar figure wandering towards him. He swore in his head and immediately straightened. Mindfang.

She sauntered over, and he thanked whoever was listening that she'd actually buttoned her blouse today. It wasn't that she wasn't attractive (whoever said she wasn't was kidding themselves). It was just that it made him extremely uncomfortable. When she got to him, she ordered, "Let me in."

Ruther shook his head. "Unless you have written permission from the Summoner, I'm afraid you can't come in."

She pursed her lips. "I have every right to talk to him if I want to."

Ruther shook his head again. "No."

Her single visible eye narrowed. "Let. Me. In."

"No." Their eyes met, intense cerulean and wary ruby. A thought entered Ruther's mind. Perhaps it was a good idea to let her in. It wasn't like she was going to hurt the Summoner. Without even realizing he was doing it, he stepped aside and nodded. "Go ahead."

She smiled at him, revealing fangs not dissimilar to a rainbow drinker's, and swept past him. As soon as she was gone, Ruther staggered and held a hand to his think pan protector, which was suddenly pounding. What on Alternia had just happened?!

* * *

The Summoner looked up, startled, upon hearing somebody enter his room. The door slammed shut and he gaped. Mindfang was standing just in front of the door, arms folded under her chest. He vividly recalled his conversation with Kaiare yesterday.

Still, he smiled warmly. She was confident, he knew from the stories he heard around the camp, and terrifying. And yet, whenever she was around him, she had a strange air around her. She was still bitingly sarcastic, still defensive and arrogant. But there was something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

She smirked at him. "Hello."

The Summoner nodded at her and waved a hand, inviting her into the next room, the kitchen. She blinked, surprised, and followed him.

Snatching some pastries, he hurriedly set them onto a plate and then onto the table. Mindfang sat, cerulean eyes following him at he opened cupboards to find clean cups. "Tea?" he asked.

She replied, "No."

He nodded and immediately sat down. She was fingering a pastry, breaking off pieces and sticking them in her mouth. "What do you need?" he asked. He knew what the others thought of her, but he was determined to give her a chance.

Mindfang shrugged. "Nothing."

The Summoner narrowed his eyes. He had no idea how she'd managed to get in; his guards were even more strict than he was about letting trolls into his hive, and he most certainly wouldn't have let her in. "Actually, I'm glad you came," he began, "I have something to ask you."

She popped another piece of pastry into her mouth. "Ask away, Summoner."

He wondered why she didn't use his name when she obviously knew it. "Well. . . . I was wondering. . . ."

Mindfang wiped crumbs from the corners of her lips and looked expectantly at him. "Hurry up; we don't have all day."

The Summoner couldn't help it; he grinned. "If you insist, Mindfang."

Her eyebrows twitched together briefly, and then she muttered something he couldn't quite catch.

"Sorry?"

She looked up, glaring at him. "I said Aranea, alright?"

For a second, he was confused. And then his eyes widened. Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, the most infamous pirate to ever sail Alternian seas, had just told him her name. Willingly. And for seemingly no reason. "Oh." He hastily gathered his senses. He didn't know why he was so scatterbrained right now. "Aranea." She flinched almost imperceptibly and nodded. His grin returned. "It's a pretty name," he said warmly.

He was pleased when she smirked. "As if."

"Anyways, I was going to ask how you knew my name." His shrewd eyes zeroed in on her reaction. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. A coldness entered her cerulean eye, and her cheeks colored slightly.

She sniffed disdainfully. "That is something I can't tell you yet, Summoner."

Slightly frustrated, he protested, "But I've never met you before!" His brow furrowed, and he added, "Right?"

She nodded. "We've never met," she agreed.

"And practically nobody knows my real name," he added. Again she nodded.

"So how do you?"

"Believe me, Summoner, if I could tell you, I would." She stood up. "There are some things meant only for certain ears."

Mindfang could've easily controlled his mind to make him forget this moment. She could've easily made him freeze while she escaped. She could've made him think that she had answered. Or she could've simply lied. But she hadn't. He didn't understand why.

"Aranea," he said. She turned her head. "Please know that I cannot allow you to leave headquarters without knowing that you are trustworthy."

She flashed him a brilliant smile. "I know. But you know full well that only a fool would try to keep me caged." She left, without ceremony and without a goodbye.

The Summoner watched her go. Marquise Spinneret Mindfang — Aranea — was an enigma. He had no idea what her motives were, how she knew his name, or why she behaved as she did. And he would be damned if he didn't try and figure it out.

* * *

 **Review, please!**


	8. Summoned (14)

**So we skipped the whole Summoner-revealing-his-name-to-his-followers bit to get right to the Summoner-befriending-Mindfang bit. Because, if I'm being honest, they're my favorites. I just love them. Don't worry though, we'll get back to the bits I've skipped! (in like twenty chapters or so, when we've all forgotten about it. . . .)**

 **Timewise: This goes after chapter 7 (where** **Mindfang was Nabbed) and before chapter 9.**

 **Disclaimer: Andrew Hussie owns Homestuck.**

 **Word count: 2,900**

* * *

"Hey, Summoner!"

The Summoner didn't look around, entirely focused on Pyralspite as the dragon tore up trees and deposited the logs nearby. They needed the wood.

"Summoner!"

He jumped and shouted back, "I'm busy!"

"You're always busy when we're at headquarters!"

Recognizing the voice at last, the Summoner gave Pyralspite some last instructions and turned. Winnia, an ocherblood that was a part of his inner circle, was lounging nearby. He rolled his eyes at her, and she beckoned.

"Come on," she said. He frowned, but fell in step beside her when she raced off. "Hurry up!" Rolling his eyes, he sped up, wondering vaguely why his best psionic was so excited. Winnia had been one of the trolls that they'd rescued from the Nabbers back before they'd actually organized raids. She had been furious and had nearly killed them all with her pisonics before she'd realized that they were there to help her. Since then, she'd been a loyal comrade that willingly partook in the Summoner's cause. She was rather pixie-ish in stature, being short and thin, and she could be both cheerful and startlingly morbid. Her pisonics were weak enough that the highbloods hadn't been interested in enslaving her, but she was easily more powerful than most of the other yellowbloods both at headquarters and scattered throughout Alternia on various missions.

"What's going on?" he asked.

They were running towards the sparring courts, which were really just a series of decently sized meadows that could be used to train and practice. "You better hurry, or it'll be over before we get there!" she retorted, infuriatingly vague.

Ducking underneath a tree branch that Winnia didn't even had to lower her head for, the Summoner complained, "I was busy!"

"Pyralspite is smarter than you anyways. I'm sure she'll figure out what to do."

About to retort, the Summoner was forced to turn his mind on other things when they burst into the largest of the sparring meadows. His eyes widened. A large group of trolls was gathered around two individuals standing in the center of the circle. Leaving Winnia behind, the Summoner pushed through the crowd in an attempt to see what was going on. He found Ruther, a rubyblood in his inner circle, standing at the front. The larger troll grinned upon seeing his friend, "Summoner, you made it!"

"What's going on?" he demanded, gaping openly. Mindfang was standing on one end of the circle, her saber drawn and her lips twisted into a sneer. She appeared relaxed, her one visible eye narrowed as she glared at her opponent.

Kaiare crouched on the other end, her dual swords out and her chest heaving, sweat trailing visibly down her skin. His eyes widened upon seeing the shallow scratch that had torn through the back of her shirt. Umber blood trailed slowly down her back, soaking into the cloth.

Ruther put a hand on the Summoner's shoulders, recognizing the look in his eyes. "Don't do anything," he said, grinning lazily, "You know better than to get involved in the girls' fights."

The Summoner forced himself to relax, although his fists were clenched. Ruther was just as close to Kaiare as he was; if she was truly in danger, he wouldn't be smiling. "I repeat: what the hell is going on?"

Ruther held up his hands placatingly, but both of them watched as Kaiare tossed her long ponytail out of her face. "I don't know quite what happened," he admitted, "One moment, everyone was practicing as usual, and then someone shouts, and then these two are fighting." He opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off when Kaiare launched herself at Mindfang, a feral scream tearing from her lips.

The Summoner knew Kaiare's fighting style almost as well as he knew his own. She dualwielded, relying soley on speed and dexterity to survive. She wasn't strong enough to survive in a prolonged fight for long, but had built up her stamina so that she could dodge multiple attacks if she had to. As Kaiare swung her blades at Mindfang, he expected to see his best friend's familiar quick attacks. He was unpleasantly surprised.

Mindfang parried each of Kaiare's strikes despite the fact that she had only one sword, the sneer never leaving her lips. Kaiare, thrown off balance, stumbled to the far end of the circle. The watching trolls either cheered or booed, depending on who they were rooting for.

"Personally," Ruther said quickly, before the fight began again, "I think Mindfang's going to destroy Kaiare."

Slightly insulted on the behalf of his friend, the Summoner asked, "Why?"

"You just got here," Ruther replied, "You'll see."

Indeed, the Summoner did see. Multiple times, Kaiare threw herself at Mindfang with everything she had, but the blueblood easily escaped harm _without taking more than one step away._ It was remarkable, how easily Mindfang had Kaiare dancing in the palms of her hands. And yet she still didn't move to take the offensive. The Summoner winced every time Mindfang's sword clipped Kaiare, silently hoping his friend would accept that she'd been defeated and surrender before this got any worse. The umberblood was growing more and more flustered, until she finally shouted, "Fight me, dammit!"

Mindfang swept her sword in a large arc, drops of umber blood flying into the air. "You wish me to end this?" Her cerulean eye glittering, she asked, "Would you prefer I make your humiliation quick, or that I draw it out?"

Infuriated, Kaiare ran at her again.

"Very well. Quick it shall be."

The Summoner blinked, and he missed it. When he opened his eyes, Kaiare was lying on her back, her sword seven feet away, the Marquise's sword pressed to her chest. His jaw dropped. "How did she move that quickly?!" he demanded. Ruther shrugged, but his ruby eyes were narrowed. The watching trolls had tensed, eyes riveted on the pair that remained in the center of the clearing, completely unmoving.

Mindfang moved the tip of her blade downwards, and the cloth of Kaiare's shirt gave way, threads snapping and tearing. Beads of umber blood blossomed around the tip of the blade. A warning growl arose from the Summoner's throat, but Mindfang had already swept her blade away, smirking.

"Remember this," she said loudly, although her eye never left Kaiare's furious ones, "Remember that I didn't kill you." She turned away, inspecting her curved sword with a disdainful glare. The circle of trolls broke, converging upon Kaiare to help.

Ruther looked around and said, "Looks like Winnia is going to help Kaiare."

The Summoner didn't hear him. He was staring at Mindfang, who appeared utterly uncaring of the chaos going on around her. He narrowed his eyes. The rubyblood recognized his expression, and punched him softly on the shoulder.

"Hey. Summoner. I'm going to go make sure Kaiare is alright. She's probably going to kill me for suggesting this, and you for listening to me."

Still torn between being furious and disconcerted at Mindfang's little display, the Summoner snapped, "Who says I'm going to listen?"

Ruther continued, "I think you should go talk to the Marquise before you talk to Kaiare."

The Summoner's head snapped around and he gaped at his friend. " _What?"_ he demanded.

Ruther held up a hand placatingly, but his ruby eyes were firm. "You need to talk to Mindfang. Kaiare's one of our best fighters, but Mindfang destroyed her in a matter of seconds. We need her if this revolution is going to have any chance of advancing."

The rubyblood turned and dove into the dissipating crowd. The Summoner ground his teeth, furious. Ruther was right, but he hated the idea of asking for help from the very person who had just humiliated his childhood friend like that.

Fuming silently, he pushed his way through the remaining trolls until he stood only a few feet from Mindfang. She stood very still, her sword sheathed and her cobalt eye directed away from him. He cleared his throat and she turned so that she faced him. No recognition flashed in her eyes, no sign that she acknowledged that they knew each other's hatchnames. She merely drew her sword. "Would you like some as well?" she asked, sweetness dripping from her words like poisonous honey. Her lips curled into a smile and, not for the first time, he wondered what had caused her to wear an eyepatch and a prosthetic arm.

The Summoner hesitated only a second before nodding. "Sure. Why not?"

Mindfang's sword flashed and he flinched away, but she merely used the back of the blade to stop one of the rebels. "Give your leader a sword," she ordered.

The troll passed her a look that was half-insulted and half-terrified and did as he had been told. The Summoner smiled apologetically at him but accepted the weapon. It was lighter than his lance, but his lance was useless in a situation like this. The crowd was gathering again, recognizing that another fight was beginning.

"Are you ready?" Mindfang asked. She acted aloofly bored, but her cerulean eye held an intense fire behind them as she met his bronze ones. He nodded, and had barely begun to prepare to fight when she stepped forwards. In a flash of blue and black, he was sent flying. All of his breath escaped him as he hit a tree, and the borrowed blade when flying. As he fell to the ground, he heard the watching trolls explode into roars. He couldn't tell if there were in favor of or against this new development, but he surged to his feet anyways.

Mindfang appeared as if she hadn't moved, standing where she had been before with her sword at her side. She raised her chin when he met her eye. A surprising emotion rose in his chest, and he recognized it immediately.

It was how he had felt when he'd left the Cavalreapers and fled as an outcast.

It was how he felt when he was planning coups and staging rallies.

It had been how he'd felt whenever he escaped from sticky situation on the back of Pyralspite.

A grin slowly grew on his face and he shouted, "Where'd my sword go?"

Someone tossed it at him and he caught it, now grinning widely. He stepped back into the circle and the trolls surged around them, watching with bated breath. As soon as he was ready, he nodded. This time, he watched her carefully. She stepped in and twisted her sword around. She did something different this time, and a stinging pain erupted in the palm of his hand and his sword was quivering as it stuck out of the ground several feet away. The feeling in his chest pulsed and grew and his wings flared open as his excitement thrummed. "That's _amazing_ ," he exclaimed, already thinking about how they could use her skills to further the revolution.

She raised her eyebrows. "I know."

He snatched the sword and stood ready. This time, she used the same technique as last time, understanding that he was trying to learn. He was surprised that she was being so compliant, but he was hardly going to complain. His quarrel with her about Kaiare was gone. Now he was entirely focused on helping the rebellion.

Again and again, his sword went flying away. The crowd around them was steadily growing, and the nimbler trolls (mostly the tealbloods and the rustbloods) clambered into the tree branches to watch. Each time, the Summoner was thoroughly destroyed by the Marquise, but he never grew frustrated. The crowd cheered and booed in all the right places. Cat-calls and jeers rang out, mingling with laughter and shouts of inspiration. A particularly memorable tealblood sitting directly above the fight started a betting pool.

Each time, the Summoner learned. He stepped back, brought his sword low, fought back, stepped aside, ducked.

It was nearing midday when he finally figured out how to last longer than ten seconds. When Mindfang darted forwards to disarm him, he stepped aside and twisted his blade down. She reacted as she always did, using the momentum of her attack to dart past and behind him to get him from that angle. Remembering something from his younger days training with the Cavalreapers, he whipped around. Their swords smashed together and shifted against each other, twitching as their owners struggled to gain control. The Summoner was distracted by Mindfang herself. Beads of sweat trailed down her face, and her brows were drawn low over her eyes, her teeth bared in a snarl. Strands of her hair stuck to her face and she looked more disheveled than he'd ever seen her, but there was a glint in her eyes.

She had a flame within her that was fed by the same nameless excitement that was urging him on.

Mindfang darted away and, thrown off balance, the Summoner stumbled forwards. Something caught his ankle and he tripped into the ground, but not before his flailing hand had caught onto something solid. There was a yelp and Mindfang fell beside him. Uproarious cheers erupted from the crowd, and cackling laughter could be heard from the trees.

Mindfang wasn't even fazed. She twisted around, grabbed his arm, and pinned him to the ground. He winced at the pain in his shoulder and exclaimed through a mouthful of dirt, "You win, you win!"

She released him and fell beside him onto her back, chest heaving. The Summoner rolled onto his back as well, rubbing his shoulder and wincing. He turned, their eyes met, and suddenly they were both laughing. His laugh was loud and heartening, completely and totally carefree. Her laugh was softer and colder, the type that made people look into a mirror to make sure that hadn't forgotten to put on pants.

When he finally caught his breath, he stood up, grinning. She was smiling too, her painted lips curled up to reveal her teeth. He held out his hand to help her up. She knocked it aside with a smirk and leaped easily to her feet. The Summoner didn't care. He bounded around like an excited puppy, unable to stop grinning. "That was amazing!" he repeated.

She nodded, not entirely unamused. "Come on," she declared, "You're getting me lunch."

He nodded eagerly, dropping his sword in the grass and beckoning. "This way." The crowd all swarmed after them, reminded of lunch and eagerly talking about what they'd just witnessed. As they waited in line, he couldn't stop asking her questions. "Where did you learn how to do that?" he demanded, awestruck. She could probably beat a subjugglater if she tried.

She inspected her fingernails, which, like her lips, had been painted the color of her blood. "I was a gamblignant, you idiot." she reminded him.

His eyes widened. "Are all gamblignants able to fight like you?"

Mindfang looked at the rest of the line, decided the wait wasn't worth it, and grabbed one of his horns, dragging him to the front. He yelped, understandably uncomfortable, but she paid him no heed, answering his question as she elbowed past other trolls. "No. Need I remind you that I was the queen of the seas?" She looked around before dropping her voice. "And I'd had a very active kismessitude with the Condesce's chief Orphaner."

She released him when they got to the front of the line, and the Summoner smiled apologetically at the people behind them and motioned to Phoryn, one of his inner circle and in charge of food today, to hand them both their shares. The Marquise snatched hers without even acknowledging Phoryn. The Summoner looked around. Most trolls just grabbed their lunches and ate on the go, but a couple sat around nearby. He chewed his lower lip absentmindedly. He had a favorite place to eat, but only his inner circle had ever accompanied him there. She looked back and realized that he was lagging behind. Something occurred to him and he jogged forwards to catch up. "Where do you normally eat?"

She shrugged. "I normally go to where I sleep."

"Which is?"

She pointed towards the direction the sun set. "The tree right at the edge of this place. It's as far as I'm allowed to go before one of your idiots tries to tail me."

He stared at her, stopping short. "You've been sleeping in a _tree_?!" he demanded, shocked. Did Kaiare distrust Mindfang so much that she made her sleep in a _tree_?!

The Marquise glared at him. "So does everybody else."

"Yes, but in a tree _hive_." He made up his mind and started walking in a different direction. "I'll show you where I eat, then."

"It's going to be in a tree," she said flatly.

He grinned at her. "How'd you know?"

The Marquise sighed and ran a hand through her wild hair. "You people here are all insane tree-people."

The Summoner laughed. "You're stuck with us!"

She muttered, "I suppose I am."


	9. Summoned (16)

**I'm going through what can really be only called a writing depression right now. It's kind of like an extreme version of writing block that's lasted for an incredibly long time. I can barely write anything, and when I do, I feel like it's horrible. Anyways. Please leave a review? It'll really mean a lot to me, and it might help me get these out faster! :]**

 **Timewise: The next chapter is chapter 17, Summoned (Endgame)**

 **Disclaimer: Andrew Hussie owns Homestuck.**

 **Word count: 2,834**

* * *

As soon as she met him, she knew her days were numbered. Before, she had been able to live knowing that she would not die until she had loved, and been loved in return.

Now that she had him, now that she knew the feel of him, she could not imagine dying by his hands. She had imagined him a warrior, ruthless and bloodthirsty. Instead, she'd found a troll with a kind heart and a beautiful soul.

The Marquise and the Summoner lay together in his bed of leaves, her half-asleep and him staring at her. She opened her eyes, one cerulean, one red. He smiled at her and she smiled back. His hand gently stroked her cheek, and he pressed a kiss to her jaw. She propped herself up on her elbows, and his lips traveled upwards.

Mindfang tilted her head, meeting his lips with hers. She frowned. Normally their kisses were precious, each a stolen treasure. Something was wrong with this kiss. It tasted bitter in her mouth. She tried to pull away, to ask what was wrong, but she couldn't. Something prevented her from doing anything, from saying anything. She began to panic.

His teeth bit into her lip and she tasted blood. Frantically, she wondered if he'd always had teeth as sharp as these.

His arms wrapped around her, trapping her. Mindfang finally broke whatever spell was on her and tried to push away, tried to break the kiss, tried to escape. He didn't release her, but he stopped kissing her. She froze, terrified, at the cruel sneer on his face. There was a coldness to his face, a sharpness that had never been there before. He snarled at her and rolled them both over, trapping her on her back beneath him. She fought, ashamed of the tears she could feel gathering in the corners of her eyes. He kissed her collarbone, his sharp teeth sending rivers of cerulean blood trickling down her grey skin.

He pulled away again, that strange cruel expression still settled over his features. He grinned at her and breathed, "Having fun, Aranea?"

Pain like she'd never imagined before exploded from her chest, and she screamed. Somehow, his lance had ripped through her body, and cerulean blood bloomed around it like some kind of perverse flower.

Mindfang screamed. She could hear him taunting her. "Did you ever think I could love you?! You're a gamblignant! You're cruel and vicious and a murderer. You're _hopeless_."

Someone was shaking her shoulders and she awoke, panicked. She didn't realize she was still screaming and sobbing uncontrollably, only aware that she'd woken right where she'd fallen asleep; in a familiar leaf nest beside a familiar troll.

He was sitting up, looking at her. His face was twisted with concern and fear. "Aranea? Are you alright?" He tried to reach for her, to comfort her, but she scrambled away, shaking like a leaf in a storm.

She felt sick to her stomach, not sure if she was truly awake or if this was just another nightmare. He stood and attempted to reach for her again. "Aranea, I—" She screamed again. She could still feel he phantom pain of his lance in her chest, could still feel his cold lips on hers, and she cried for the pain that pierced her blood-pumper like a knife.

* * *

The Summoner was utterly bewildered. He was crouching besides his matesprit, watching her shake and sob and he _couldn't do anything._ Every time he spoke or touched her, she jerked away and screamed. Worse than that, she was pleading with him. "Please don't hurt me I promise I'll love you please don't hurt me I swear I'll be good please don't hurt me I don't want to die pleasepleasepleaseplease oh god it hurts make it stop!"

The Summoner began to shake as well, struggling to calm her. "Aranea, stop it. I promise I won't ever hurt you. I _promise_." She was was incorrigible. He hated it. He could count the number of times he'd seen her cry on one hand, and he'd never imagined in his entire lifetime he would hear her beg.

At a loss, he merely sat there, as close as she would let him. She was less panicked now and she had stopped screaming, although she was still shaking so badly he was amazed that she was able to support herself. Her arms were wrapped around her torso, and she was rocking back and forth, shaking her head and struggling to breath. "Shh, shhh, shhh," the Summoner soothed, "It's alright. You're safe here, I promise." He continued making promises, struggling not to let her see how deeply this was hurting him. Abruptly, he realized that the fingernails of her prosthetic arm were digging into the flesh of her other arm. Cerulean blood dripped down, and he hissed, grabbing her hand and pulling it away. Her body jerked, but he kept a firm hold on her hand. She was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. Trying, and failing, to repress his own tears, he held her to his body. She tried to push him away but he murmured, "You're safe. I won't hurt you. You're safe," over and over. She slowly relaxed in his arms, although she still jumped whenever he moved. It took a very long time for her to stop crying, but he held her, terrified of what would happen if he let go. It was nearly dawn when she stopped shaking, but neither of them fell asleep again. When she was finally completely quiet and still, he gently picked her up. She stiffened, clearly about to struggle, but he took up his chant again, promising her that she was safe and that he wouldn't hurt her. He laid her down gently onto his bed of leaves and whispered, "I'll be right back." She looked up at him with glazed eyes, and he stroked her hair one last time. And then he stood and walked out of his treehive and down the bridge that connected his front door to the guard station the had been built in the next tree. Winnia was on guard, and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Are you two okay?" she asked. She'd obviously heard Mindfang's screams.

He nodded. "We're fine." He hoped. "Just don't let anybody in." Winnia nodded, and he added, "Not even Kaiare." She nodded again.

"Will you need food?"

The Summoner shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What about the meeting to discuss the next perigree's rally? You told them you'd be there before midday."

"Tell them an emergency came up," he replied. She nodded and he smiled, relieved. "Thank, Winnia." She nodded again, and he flew back across the bridge and into his hive.

Mindfang was where he had left her, although she had found some paper and a quill. She was writing feverishly, head bent over her work, her long hair obscuring her face. He knocked on the doorframe as he came in to let her know she was there. She jumped, and he hated that. What had happened? It had obviously been a nightmare, but would could scare his matesprit so badly?

She looked up at him, and he noticed that there were dark circles under her eyes. She crumpled up the paper and threw it in the corner, where several others already were. He kneeled down beside her, afraid of touching her again. "Hey."

She didn't smile. She looked exhausted. "Hey."

Because he couldn't take it anymore, he took her hand. He noticed how she flinched when his hand moved towards her, and he pursed his lips. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked away. "No."

The Summoner tried to hide his disappointment. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" When she didn't reply, he prompted, "Aranea?"

Wordlessly, she nodded. There was a tense silence in which he made himself more comfortable. Finally, she reached up. Her thumb touched the corner of his lips, and he didn't move. He frowned when she moved his upper lip up, but he still didn't move, even when she took her other hand and traced his teeth.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and withdrew her hands.

"Will you be alright?" He knew it would be stupid to ask if she was fine now.

Mindfang nodded. She said softly, "I'm sorry." He opened his mouth to protest, but she continued, "Just . . . forget everything I said, alright?"

He caught her hands, frowning. "I can't just do that, Aranea!"

"Just do it," she snapped, a spark entering her eyes, "Forget I said anything!"

They sat there, glaring at each other. The Summoner finally deflated, looking pleadingly at her. He couldn't just forget what she had said, what she had repeated over and over. "You know I would never hurt you." She laughed, a low and bitter sound. Realizing that she hadn't agreed, he repeated, slightly more panicked, "I would never hurt you, Aranea! I swear it."

She sighed and pressed an unfeeling kiss to his cheek. "I can't imagine that you ever would," she admitted. He drew her over and leaned his head against the wall. She sat comfortably in his arms, and he had no intention of letting her go any time soon.

Conversations like these never came easily to them. She was too guarded to bare her soul before anyone this way, and he was too afraid of letting her down to press her. She was his first love, and he was determined that she would also be his only.

And so it was a long time before he asked, "Was that what you were dreaming about?" She knew immediately what he was talking about and shifted uneasily. He noticed how one hand moved up to her chest, as if she was looking for something that wasn't there. "Did you dream that I'd hurt you?"

Mindfang sighed heavily. "R—" She stopped and he knew she'd been about to say his name. "Summoner, I don't want to talk about it."

He let out a frustrated sound, running his hands through his hair as he was wont to do when upset. "Does it have to do with why you refuse to use my name?"

When she was quiet, he knew he'd asked the right question. "You still haven't told me _how_ you knew my name, Aranea!"

"I already told you! _I don't want to talk about it_!" She pulled away from him and began pacing back and forth, her bare feet making muffled thumps with each step. She was distressed; she kept trying to run her fingers along her sword's hilt, forgetting that she wasn't wearing it.

The Summoner didn't stand. Any other time, and he would concede and let the matter slide. But he needed to know. He needed to know why his matesprit had pushed him away last night. He needed to know why she refused to use his name. He needed to know what had made the great Marquise Spinneret Mindfang whimper like a wiggler. "You need to tell me," he said, "Talking to somebody helps."

She shot him a dagger-like glare. She was putting back on her mental armor, the one that guarded the intangible parts of her, like her heart and her mind. "Can't you just leave it be?!"

The Summoner's wings flared open. "No. Aranea, _you can trust me_."

She made a violent gesture with her hands, and she looked around wildly, clearly searching for something. When she didn't find it, she turned on him. "Where's my sword?"

"What?"

"Where's my sword?!" she demanded.

The Summoner stood up. "Are you going to stab something?"

Mindfang turned around, still looking for it. "No! I— yes! I don't know!"

She grabbed the nearest thing — a wooden bowl — and threw it. It landed against the wall and cracked. She turned and glared at him, defiantly daring him to scold her. He didn't. He knew that she was more violent than any of his lowblooded friends, but this wasn't her. Whatever had made her break down last night was clearly still preying on her mind.

He enveloped her in his arms again, and they sank back down to the floor. "You need to talk about it," he informed her.

Mindfang sighed. "I'm not sorry about the bowl."

"I know," the Summoner replied, rolling his eyes. He was by now used to the nuances of their relationship, the strange not-arguments and the silent truces.

She glared at him, waiting for him to tell her that she didn't have to tell him. When he merely stared at her, bronze eyes steady and unmoving, she bowed her head.

Speaking in a low, defeated voice, she began. "Before my fleet was destroyed, I had an Oracle." She refused to meet his eyes, and he refused to move his arms away from her. Almost unconsciously, his wings closed in around them both, enveloping her in an embrace softer than he could manage with merely his arms. She propped her forehead on his shoulder, but kept her eyes focused on the floor.

Her voice slowly became surer, and her cerulean eye began to glitter. "That Oracle was the worst thing that ever happened to me. It gave me honest answers about the future, always letting me get the upper hand over my enemies. But, in the end, it ruined me." She shook her head bitterly, and carefully extracted herself from his grasp. His wings folded behind him, the tips brushing the floor. He stood with her, fingers following her shoulders.

She spoke carefully, no doubt choosing her words deliberately. Although she could claim she'd never lied to him, Mindfang was a master when it came to lies of omission. "I was desperate, once. I asked who would be my matesprit." She swallowed hard. "It told me, in words plainer than the skies on a day without clouds." She looked at him and smiled humorlessly. "You were destined to be my matesprit, Summoner."

The Summoner was silent, trying to process this information. That was how she'd known his name. She'd — or still did — possessed an Oracle, one that could tell her the future. The idea was fantastical. They could use it, to help the rebellion— The Summoner squashed the thought. She was hurting and he was helping. This wasn't going to turn into a debate over the rebellion. "What does this have to do with your nightmare?"

Mindfang grimaced, and he noticed her roll her tongue over her fangs. "It told me," she said slowly, "that I would die during the course of the rebellion." His nostrils flared and his expression darkened. She continued, voice growing wry, "Maybe, because I associated you with the rebellion and the rebellion with my death, my mind associated you and my death. Theoretically speaking." Mindfang looked at him, cerulean eye hopeful.

The Summoner sighed and held out his arms. She collapsed into them gratefully, breathing a soft little sigh. He took her excuse now, but they both knew that she was leaving something out.

Something vital.

"Try and sleep, Aranea," he breathed, "I'll be here for you."

She nodded against his shoulder, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "I'm flushed for you, little spider."

"Flushed for you," she replied, although it was muffled and faint. "Summoner."

* * *

 **Please review!**


	10. Dreamed (6)

**Haha this is such a freaking short chapter. It's practically a drabble. Anyways, here you go! I promise I'll update a longer chapter sooner than normal to compensate :) Also, good news, my writing block is kind-of going away? I mean, I wrote an Ancestors AU and I actually liked it so that's got to be good. Enjoy the chapter :)**

 **Word count: 389**

* * *

The three trolls walked up the road, one skipping slightly. The skipping troll looked back at the trolls behind her and grinned. "Hurry up, Kankri! Hurry up, Porrim!"

The Dolorosa laughed softly and chided, "Don't go too quickly. We still have eight miles."

Meulin's eyes — mostly black, but olive in the center — widened in shock, her mouth falling open. " _Eight_?!" she repeated, horrified.

Kankri giggled at his friend's antics. He had grown very attached to the slight oliveblood ever since he'd rescued her from her fall. Meulin had agreed to travel with them after it became clear that the forest didn't have enough food to support them. They were going south, hoping they could find a city and barter until they managed to get more supplies.

The mutant troll darted up next to his friend. She made a face. "Porrim, why're we going so far?"

The Dolorosa blinked. Having not heard her name for a while, it was still jarring to hear it slip so easily from Meulin's mouth. "We're running out of supplies, Meulin."

Meulin sighed heavily but slowed her pace. Within seconds, she was searching for another conversation topic. Eyes settling on Kankri, she asked, "Trolls get their names chosen by their lusii, right?"

The mutant shrugged.

"Well, they do. You never had a lusus, right?"

Kankri nodded, blinking curiously at her. "Why?"

"How did you get your name?"

Kankri froze, and then he turned to his mother. "Do I have to tell her?" he asked plaintively.

Lips curling into a wide grin, the Dolorosa said firmly, "Unless you want to be rude."

Kankri sighed and looked back at his friend. "Promise you won't laugh?"

Meulin's eyes lit up, and she snatched Kankri's arm. "Promise! Now come on! Tell me!"

He sighed and bowed his head. In a low mutter, he replied, "I named myself."

She frowned. "How'd you manage that one?" At Kankri's dismayed face, the Dolorosa burst out laughing. Bewildered but smiling, Meulin tapped Kankri. "Tell me!"

Still refusing to meet her gaze, he said in a mortified whisper, "It's how I pronounced 'cranky' when I was little."

Meulin's eyes widened. "Cranky Kankri!" she exclaimed, and then began to giggle as well.

Kankri groaned. "You promised you wouldn't laugh!"


	11. Defied (10)

**Welcome to the first chapter of the pirate years! ;) This chapter will also introduce Denmer, who I use a lot throughout this world, especially when the chapter is focused around Mindfang. And it's much longer than the last one too.**

 **Note: While some chapters about Mindfang and Dualscar during their times as seafarers technically occur before the Signless' life, I'm still going to number them after the Signless' chapters because it makes more sense to me that way.**

 **Word count: 3, 536**

* * *

The Marquise leaned over one of the multiple tables set up on the deck of her ship, her cerulean eyes narrowed as she looked over the report her quartermaster had handed her. Because she had a tendency to covet power, her quartermaster served as more of a first mate than anything else, and was often referred to as such. She had ensured the loyalty of her crew and her position as the only leader a long time ago; anyone who tried to change that met a quick and brutal death. "Are you telling me," she asked drily, "that we should travel twenty miles off-course to steal a boat-load of _paint_?!"

Her quartermaster chuckled, by now immune to her sharp tongue. Only a shade lower on the hemospectrum than her, he was tall and fierce-looking, with long, hooked horns and wild, braided hair. Multiple gold bands sparkled on his right horn. "According to the intelligence report, they're worth a fortune."

The Marquise stared at him. "How did it say these paints were _made_?" she asked.

Her other officers were gathered around the table as well, and the master gunner read aloud, "'Made from assorted dyes. Naturally colored.'"

She nodded, the wind tossing her mane of dark hair over her shoulders. One of the passing slaves stopped briefly to stare, no doubt noticing the way her tight-fitting clothes clung to the curves of her body. If anybody noticed that she allowed the slave to stare, they didn't say anything. "'Naturally colored,'" she repeated, "Do any of you idiots have any idea what that means?"

The quartermaster asked bluntly, "Troll blood?"

She slapped the table with her hand. " _Exactly_. I refuse to have that on my ship."

"But it's worth a fortune!" protested the second mate, her eyes glittering as she looked at the numbers.

"And we don't have any means to preserve it until we find some city to sell it," she retorted, "Who the hell is going to buy dozens of barrels of _troll blood_?" Seeing the quartermaster opening his mouth, she added, "Denmer, don't you dare say another word."

The officers chuckled and Denmer hastily said, "You didn't even know what I was going to say!"

She shot him a deadly glare that would have made anybody else faint right on the spot. "I am _never_ making any kind of deal with the Grand Highblood. We've talked about this. Unless you want to put it to a vote again?" she added sweetly.

He scowled. Although willing to take ridiculous chances, the gamblignants drew the line when it came to the subjugglators. The last time he'd suggested making a deal with the Grand Highblood, it had been nearly unanimously voted down.

"Besides," she snapped, "He only likes using blood as paint when he harvests the blood himself. Otherwise it's too boring for him."

"Alright," Denmer said with a sigh, "How about the jadebloods? They pay good money for blood."

The Marquise shot him a look. "Shut up, unless you want me to rip your think-pan out of your mouth."

He threw his hands in the air, and the second mate added absentmindedly, "Spinneret, we all know the jadebloods are rainbow drinkers."

The Marquise threw her dice across the table; on instinct, everybody else scrambled away. The dice came to a halt at the feet of the staring slave. With a pale face, the slave could only watch as the dice summoned up a fountain of acid and blasted the slave's feet. With a sigh, the Marquise gestured to the master carpenter to grab her dice for her as the injured slave bounded away, shrieking and trying to get the acid away. " _We_ all know," she said firmly, "But I'm not having the rest of the crew find out."

Denmer shook his head, lips twisted wryly. "Come on, Marquise. Just a quick hit-and-run! We won't get caught, and we're heading towards the jadebloods' caves anyways!"

Pocketing her dice, the Marquise stood. "Fine," she conceded, "Denmer, go ahead and grab those two rustbloods we nabbed from the last raid — you know the ones — and use them to bring over the paint. It'll be heavy."

Her quartermaster frowned at her. "You're not coming?"

She glared at him. "You think I want to waste my time on something like that?" She stretched out her mind, briefly seizing control of the two rustblood slaves who had been captured from their last attack, having them find something to write with and something to write on. After informing them both that if they followed orders they'd be rewarded, she added that if they ran away, they'd be hunted down like the animals they were. Once she'd made her point clear, she released them and turned to Denmer. "I don't have any part in this," she said, "Grab a couple more people; you shouldn't need too many. If you get caught on such a stupid heist, then you better be dead when I find you." As dramatically as ever, she stood and stalked away, her dark hair rippling behind her.

Denmer grimaced. "You heard her," he told the other officers, "Let's hop to it."

* * *

 _It all started with the smell. Mindfang knew, reflexively, that she was dreaming, and so she didn't think much of it at first. Her dreamself went down to the hold, where her monstrous lusus guarded their loot and supplies. Unfortunately, that also meant it was nearly impossible to get things out of it when they wanted to. Mindfang knew there was no danger; she was only dreaming, after all._

 _Her lusus greeted her as warmly as ever, and she had to be quick on her feet to avoid her. Unfortunately, the dream started to flux, becoming steadily more dreamlike and abandoning all pretense of being the true world._

 _The ground began to tip and curve beneath her, making her trip and stumble. That horrible stench hit her full on, and she gagged, unable to pinpoint why she recognized it._

 _Suddenly, something in her mind clicked. The spider-lusus vanished, and the world fell still. Mindfang stood alone in the hold of her ship, listening to an eerie silence that should never exist out in the ocean._

 _Just as abruptly as it had been emptied, the hold suddenly filled with trolls. Not just any trolls, however. Dead trolls, with moon-pale eyes and festering wounds. The smell hit her again, and this time she recognized it._

 _The smell of corpses._

 _The trolls moved towards her in a single wave of blank eyes and limbs that trembled and fell apart with every movement. Scrambling backwards, Mindfang struggled not to scream or throw up. The stench was overwhelming, and her heart was beating so quickly that not breathing simply wasn't an option._

You're dreaming, _she thought fiercely, closing her eyes and trying to destroy the lingering images of long-dead hands that reached hungrily for her,_ You're dreaming.

 _But that didn't stop the feeling that twisted in her stomach as the screaming corpses grabbed at her hair and pulled at her clothes. Thrashing, Mindfang twisted and_ fell onto the floor beside her bed, gasping for breath as sweat soaked her nightclothes.

For a second she lay there, trembling and fighting the urge to vomit. She hadn't had a nightmare she couldn't control in a very long time, and the aftereffects still lingered within her. The worst part, she thought, as she dragged herself back up and into her bed (the recuperacoons had all leaked recently; she'd have to remember to get new ones), was that she could still smell the horrible stench of rotting corpses.

The Marquise's cerulean eyes flew open wide and she staggered to her feet upon the realization that _the smell hadn't just been in her dream._ Frantically grabbing an overcoat and her favorite red boots, she raced from her cabin, retching drily as the stench hit her full on.

The smell clearly hadn't woken the rest of her crew, but where on Alternia could it possibly be coming from?! Nobody on her ship was stupid enough to kill somebody and leave the body to fester. As far as she knew, they normally tossed the bodies overboard in the hopes she wouldn't notice (she did). Bursting up onto the afterdeck, she spotted her first mate and snarled, "What is that stench?!"

Denmer whirled around and hissed, "Shhh! It's the middle of the night!"

Silently wishing she'd remembered to grab her dice, the Marquise snapped, "What the hell are you doing, Denmer?"

The blueblood troll grimaced at her. "We got the paint."

The wind shifted, blowing the smell towards the Marquise. She gagged and hastily decided that it would be better to be closer to the source of the smell, which was several barrels, than it would be to be downwind of it. The trolls she had sent with Denmer to steal the paint were sitting around him, all of them looking faintly queasy. The only two who appeared unaffected were the two rustblood slaves who had gone with them. "And what did you do, bring back a shitload of corpses?!" she demanded, struggling with the instinct to cover her mouth and nose. She swore upon inhaling another mouthful of the foul air, "Do you know what that's going to do to my lusus?!"

Denmer paled. "Doesn't she know that these aren't real corpses?"

That stopped her short and she blinked, momentarily confused. "What else could be making that smell?"

One of the sailors who had gone with Denmer muttered weakly, "We thought it was just the paints."

"Oh my god." The Marquise ran a hand through her mussed hair. The smell was making her sick. " _Paints don't smell, you idiots!"_

Denmer narrowed his eyes, examining his captain. It was clear that she was annoyed if not completely furious, but there was also a shadow behind her eyes. They must've caught her right after a nightmare. The first mate sighed and sat down, leaning against one of the barrels. There would be no reasoning with her in this state. "I would've opened it to see what it was, but I would rather not get a full whiff of this stuff, y'know?"

Her scowl deepened and she stalked forwards. "Why did you grab it if you weren't sure they were paints?" she hissed, eyes like twin flames.

Her gestured to a label on one of barrels. At first glance, it looked like a messy capital _p_ or _d._ Upon closer examination, it didn't become any clearer. Raising her eyebrows, she asked, " _And?"_

Denmer shrugged loosely. "The other barrels were labeled with nothing but yellow and brown stickers. We assumed the _p_ meant paint."

Mindfang buried her head in her hands, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, "Why do I have to be stuck with these idiots?"

Raising her head, she opened her mouth, no doubt to give them the worst verbal lashing they'd ever experienced. Just in time, something thumped against the side of the ship, sending it rocking in the water. Having been thrown off-balance, everybody struggled to get back on their feet, swear words of varying vulgarity flying through the air.

The Marquise whirled around towards the source, and spotted a large seahorse as it flew over the deck and stopped before her. She scowled at it, but didn't make a move to hurt it. Denmer finally caved in and wrapped a scarf around his mouth. The seahorse lusus handed her a slip of paper, and she read it quickly. Almost instantaneously, her scowl vanished, replaced with a smirk that revealed her fangs. She beckoned to one of the rustblood slaves. "Bring me something to write with," she ordered. As the slave scurried away, she added, "Something blue!"

When the slave returned, she scribbled something on the back of the paper and handed it back to the seahorse. "And for god's sake, don't hit the boat again." Turning away as the lusus vanished over the deck, she twitched two fingers at Denmer, beckoning him to get up. He did, reluctantly, because that smirk rarely meant everything good. "Tell the carpenters to prepare the catapults," she declared, "And put those barrels off to the side. I'm heading back to my cabin."

Looking at her warily, he asked, ". . . why?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and shot him a flippant look. "Dualscar's coming." With that, she turned and vanished below.

Denmer stood still, staring after her. Spending several moments doing nothing but swearing vehemently, he gestured at the watching sailors. "You heard the Marquise! Do what she said!" They laughed and ran off, leaving the two slaves lingering. He examined them. "Move the barrels there, and then head down to rest for an hour or so." As they, too, left, he ran his hands through his hair, mentally cringing. Nothing good ever happened when Dualscar visited. People died, the ship got damaged, and Mindfang got brazen and cocky for days afterwards.

The worst was when they decided to pail right there, in the middle of the deck. Shuddering, remembering the last time he'd had to clean _that_ up, Denmer hurried off to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.

* * *

The carpenters spent more time trying to get their supplies past the spider lusus than they did actually setting up the catapults the Marquise had requested almost as soon as she'd been made captain, which had been designed to be dismantled and put together quickly and during emergencies. The Marquise was soon above deck, dressed in her normal clothes and bright red boots. As always, she moved throughout the crew as they worked, touching, speaking, flirting whenever necessary to keep their spirits up. For all that she pretended otherwise, she cared for them all and, though they pretended differently, they gave the utmost respect and loyalty to her.

The Marquise found Denmer with the navigator, both of them discussing the route they would take after Dualscar visited, taking into account the fact that they might need to stop to buy supplies for repairs. The conversation halted as she propped an elbow on Denmer's shoulder and examined the map they had spread over the barrel. "Hello, boys," she said mildly.

The navigator rolled his eyes. "What d'you need?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Nothing from you," she said crossly. Her cerulean eyes found Denmer again, and he interrupted whatever she'd been about to say, already irritated even though Dualscar's ship wasn't even visible yet.

"Spinneret, what the hell do you expect us to do with those corpse-barrels?"

She patted him lightly on the head, fingering one of his braids. "Did you check to see what they were?"

"No."

She nodded affirmatively and tugged one of the rings on his horns. He shot her a glare, and she grinned impishly. "Go do it, Denmer." He groaned and she added, "Don't worry. I have a plan to get rid of them."

Denmer shot her a suspicious look; he had no doubt that she was doing to catapult the corpse-barrels at Dualscar. What he didn't know what how she expected to get away before the Orphaner shot a hole in their hull.

Grumbling, he unceremoniously shoved her elbow off of him and walked slowly over to the corpse-barrels. The stench was, if anything, even worse than he remembered it. Tying a scarf around his nose and mouth, the gamblignant set to work. Once he managed to pry the tops of the barrels off, he found that the corpse-barrels were actually full of lumpy, vaguely oval objects that were roughly the size of his head. They were covered in sharp thorn-like protrusions, and the smell rose from their green-brown shells.

As soon as he could, Denmer replaced the lids, gagging and retching. They'd looked oddly like fruits, although he would never in a million sweeps taste them. Still shuddering, he ran off to find the Marquise. She was helping the carpenters, but she stopped when she saw him. "Well?"

"They're fruits of some sort," he replied, "With shells. Should shatter pretty nicely against Dualscar's deck."

She blinked up at him innocently. "Whatever do you mean, Denmer?" Rolling his eyes, he waved a hand at her.

Bidding the carpenters goodbye, the Marquise darted up into the crow's nest and perched there, eyes on the horizon, as she waited for her kismesis to come.

* * *

The tension in the air was nearly palpable as Dualscar's ship came in beside theirs, Mindfang standing near the gangplank, one foot out so as to make it impossible to lower it. It started just like normal. Dualscar stepped out, his cape flaring out dramatically in the wind. She caught sight of him and smirked. "Took you long enough, fishboy."

He glared at her, "Spiderbitch."

Denmer just thanked god that he didn't have his gun with him.

The Marquise snatched a handful of ropes and took a running leap, easily clearing the space between the two ships and joining Dualscar on his. While she diverted his focus by smiling and touching seductively, her crew began to move.

They loaded the strange fruit that had been inside the barrels into the catapults as quickly and silently as ghosts. The Marquise pressed her lips to her kismesis's neck, and he let out a strange sound, his large hands dropping to her waist. Her cerulean eyes flashed to her ship, checking her crew's progress. Denmer flashed her a thumbs up. She winked at him and drew away from Dualscar, turning so that his back was to the commotion on her ship, still smiling that infuriating grin of hers. Her cerulean eyes flashed warningly to his crew, daring them to warn their leader.

"I'd love to stay and chat—" she began.

"Who said you could leave?" Dualscar challenged, voice rough. He grabbed her arm and dragged her over, kissing her again. She hissed angrily, feeling his teeth biting into her lips. In a flash of movement, she twisted her arm away and stepped down on his foot — hard.

The seadweller didn't scream, unfortunately, but he did bite her tongue. Furious, she bit him back, struggling to untangle herself from his iron-like grip. But his arms — held firmly against her back — didn't move. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, the Marquise cursed her kismesis for being so much larger than her. The tangy taste of blood felt sticky in her mouth, and she hissed as well as she could, "If you don't let me go, I'm feeding your slaves to my lusus."

Dualscar didn't release her immediately, allowing his touch to linger, letting her know that he wasn't completely accepting defeat. She slapped his hands away and drew her sword. The blade flashed twice, cutting two shallow slits in his palm, before it vanished back into its sheath.

He glared at her and made to grab her again, but she danced out of his reach. " _That_ was for touching me without permission."

Denmer tossed her a rope and she snatched it, swinging back to her ship. Several things happened at once.

Dualscar whirled around and saw the catapults; his violet eyes widened with horror as he realized he'd been tricked. The slaves and carpenters released the catapults, sending the corpse-fruits slamming into the hull and deck of Dualscar's ship. The anchor was pulled all the way up, and, by a stroke of luck, the wind picked up. The psionics on the crew — both slaves and freemen — added their power to the mix, using techniques stolen and modified from the airships, to make it go even faster.

Perched against the mast, one arm wrapped securely around the rope, the Marquise blew her kismesis a kiss. "Take care of those for me, will you?"

The wind shifted just slightly, throwing the full stench of the corpse-fruits into Dualscar's face. He reacted as if he'd been struck, staggering backwards and bringing a hand up to his mouth. His crew was in chaos, trying to raise the anchor and rushing around in a futile attempt to get rid of the corpse-fruits; they'd shattered across the deck, revealing the source of their smell to the open air. Orphaner Dualscar let out a roar of anger, shouting at one of his slaves to bring him his gun.

"Marquise!" Denmer called, voice warning.

The queen of the gamblignants snatched her dice and threw them to the wind. He didn't see what it landed as, but a huge cannon appeared out of thin air. It fired something large and hot, and soon Dualscar had more to worry about than a couple stinky fruits. Still grinning widely, the Marquise sarcastically saluted her kismesis as they sped away.

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 **Review.**


	12. Summoned (15)

**Okay, this one requires a little explanation. As you may be able to tell by the style of the writing, I wrote this one a while ago! Last august, in fact. So I'm actually not quite sure if I should upload this, because the way I characterize both Mindfang and the Summoner have changed since then. However, the event that occurs here is still canon in this story, so I guess I should include this. Anyways. Enjoy! If you don't want to read this one (it is a little bit off...) I can include a summary next chapter.**

 **Word count: 1,691**

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"Mindfang!"

Mindfang pretended she didn't hear her name. Hell, it wasn't even her real name. She pretended she was just another troll, buying food and supplies. The stall owner gave her a weird look when she asked to buy so much stuff. She glared at him, daring him to question her. Unfortunately, he did. "What's all this for?"

It was easier to ease his suspicions than to do the same with the threshecutioners she would be sure to meet if she didn't. "High-maintenance lusus." And that was all she had to say. Within minutes, she was out and walking down the street again. She was actually buying supplies for the rebellion that her matesprit was gathering, and subtly spreading word of a rally that would occur in three days time.

Normally, the Summoner wanted her at his side at all times, if only because she was a highly recognizable criminal. But now she kept her hood up, discreetly searching the sea of trolls for the person who had called her name.

The shout came again. "Mindfang!" It was a male's voice, she decided, and one that was vaguely familiar. Still she ignored it, moving her cerulean gaze across the alleys, searching for a way to get underground. That was where the Summoner and his gang was camping out tonight, and they needed the supplies she had.

"Marquise!"

God, this one was very stubborn. Mindfang sped up her pace, but was careful not to go too fast.

The voice shouted, " _Marquise Spinneret Mindfang!"_

Like everyone else, Mindfang turned. She recognized the troll chasing her immediately; he was a blueblood a shade lower on the hemospectrum than her. He had been her first mate back when she'd been a pirate. Her eyes widened. No wonder he knew her by her alias! The ceruleanblood lingered momentarily. She couldn't talk to him here, but she couldn't very well leave him screaming her name in such a busy street.

Her eyes met his and he glared at her, furious at being ignored. Thinking quickly, she pressed a kiss to her first two fingers and blew it at him, smirking flirtatiously. He recognized the signal and fell silent, melting into the crowds, abruptly invisible after making such a spectacle of himself.

Mindfang sighed and, hoisting the bag of supplies further over her shoulder, darted into an alley. It wasn't long before he found her clambering over a wall to get to a manhole, burdened as she was with the supplies. He said sarcastically, "Who'd have ever thought I'd find you this far inland."

She called him something incredibly inappropriate and flipped a specific finger up at him. He merely laughed and leaped down from the roof he was standing on, landing on the ground just as she hopped down next to the manhole. He was tall for a troll, his wild black hair braided out of his face. His horns were particularly long, although nowhere near as large as her Summoner's. They both went straight up before hooking inwards, and he had bits of jewelry on the right one. "I thought you were dead," he told her.

"I was very certain _you_ were dead," she retorted, "but this is a horrible place to talk, Denmer." She pulled the cover of the manhole up and threw it aside unceremoniously.

He nodded. "That it is, Marquise. Is that why you're trying to jump into the sewers?" She swore at him again as she tossed the supplies down the manhole. He rolled his eyes. "Very mature, Marquise."

Mindfang climbed down after the supplies, calling up to him, "Get down here!"

"Aye-aye, captain."

It was strange, wandering through the twisting labyrinth that was the sewage system. Especially with Denmer. Mindfang didn't let it show, but his reappearance in her life had shocked her. She had mourned the loss of him and the rest of her crew, although of course she pretended that she hadn't cared. Now, they were both acting as if no time had passed since she had been the Pirate Queen and they'd spent their time pulling off daring heists and stupid threats together.

He asked conversationally, "What're you doing here, Mindfang? I never thought I'd see you this far from the sea."

"I've found something new," she snapped.

Denmer didn't say anything for a while. And then he said bluntly, "You joined that rebellion."

Mindfang's eyes widened, and she was glad that he was behind her and couldn't see her expression. Damn. She'd forgotten how she hated how well he knew her. "Not just joined, Denmer," she cooed, "I'm helping _lead_ it."

Fingers wrapped around her free hand and she hissed. _Nobody_ touched her without her permission. Denmer let go readily enough; so he did remember her rages. He still spoke, however. "Mindfang, you couldn't care less about how the highbloods treat the lowbloods."

She turned to meet his gaze angrily. "Shut up, Denmer."

Confusion was clear in his familiar blue eyes, but he shrugged. "You've changed, Mindfang. I don't know if I like it."

Not sure if she was more insulted or confused, Mindfang turned and continued walking. It wasn't long before she heard voices and saw the light of a fire. She slowly put down the supplies just before she rounded the corner. Drawing her sword silently, she motioned for Denmer to stay. Despite the fact that she was no longer his captain, he still obeyed her unquestioningly, drawing his own sword (straighter and slimmer than her own) and standing guard over the supplies. As quickly as she could, Mindfang darted over the thick sewage water and around the corner. They heard the sound of her boots in the water, but they still reacted too late. She had her blade against the lead troll's neck in mere seconds. His back was too her, and she felt him stiffen. The other trolls let out yells of shock and leaped to their feet, but none dared attack her. The troll she was holding chuckled, and his faerie-like wings fluttered, caressing her face. "It's good to see you, too."

Mindfang stepped back and sheathed her sword, grinning at her matesprit and the rest of the gang. "Sloppy," she declared, "I could've killed all of you in six seconds flat, and then where would the rebellion be?"

The Summoner turned, his bronze eyes lighting up when he saw her. He caressed her cheek and pressed his lips to hers. It was a chaste kiss, quick and brief. Not at all how Mindfang preferred them. He replied, "And yet nobody else would be able to get this far into the sewers."

She wrinkled her nose. The other trolls went back to their work, by now used to their leaders' flirting. "I don't see why anybody would want to. It smells like shit." She grabbed one of his horns — his eyes widened — and used it to bring his face down to hers. Their lips met and her eyes closed. She ran her tongue along his lower lip and one of his hands moved behind her back while the other tangled itself in her hair. Her own hands lingers on his cheeks and his shoulders. As she deepened their kiss, he pulled her flush against him, his wings wrapping around them both like a cocoon, lingering tantalizingly close and yet far enough that she could only sense them, not feel them.

"Oh. That certainly explains why you're leading a rebellion."

Mindfang broke the kiss and tilted her head around to glare at Denmer. "Shut up!"

The Summoner's arms tightened around her, and she felt his arm drop to his belt where he kept his dagger for times when it was impractical to use his lance.

Denmer rolled his eyes. "Really, Mindfang? A bronzeblood?"

She growled under her breath. "You're lucky I lost my dice in the wreck!"

The Summoner cleared his throat, and she realized that the rest of their gang had drawn their weapons.

"It's fine." She stepped out of the Summoner's arms. "He's an old friend."

The Summoner let her go, knowing full well how she hated to be contained. Hell, she hated being underground. She was edgy enough as it was without having to deal with friends she'd long thought dead.

"Denmer, this is the Summoner. You may have heard of him. Summoner, this is Denmer."

Denmer fell into his place behind her, his shrewd blue eyes searching the Summoner's bronze ones. Mindfang rolled her eye and jerked her hands at the other trolls. "Get back to work!"

The Summoner opened his mouth and she added, "The supplies are around the corner. Denmer will fetch them." The other blueblood opened his mouth to protest but she shot him a poisonous glare. He glared back but went to do as he was told.

As soon as he had gone, Mindfang sat down next to the fire they had lit for seeing. Unfortunately, that also meant it was very smoky, as there was no ventilation. "Aranea—" began the Summoner.

She caught his hand — huge in her slender ones — and pressed her lips to the underside of his wrist. "Don't worry, love," she said firmly, "Denmer is a friend. He was my first mate." At his narrowed eyes, she added, "My second-in-command on the ship."

The Summoner immediately relaxed. "Okay. That's good." His bronze eyes latched onto her cerulean one. "You sure he's trustworthy?"

She nodded. "I trusted him with my life." Of course, that hadn't meant much at the time, because she'd known exactly when she would die and that there had been no way she was going to die during those times.

The Summoner slung an arm around her shoulders, and both of them stared into the fire. "I'm trusting you, Aranea."

"I know." The last word stuck to the roof of her mouth and refused to slip out. _Rufioh_.


	13. Crawled (11)

**Hello! Everything will be explained in the last chapter. This bulk-update was all pre-written, and I am just posting it now to get it out of my drafts.**

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Darkleer traipsed through the trees with startling efficiency. For his size, he could be very quiet if he wanted to be. Right now, however, there was no need to be quiet. If anything, he wanted to be heard.

His bow in hand, the large troll stopped moving and listened. The forest fell completely still, the silence thunderous after his noisy rampage. Frustration bubbling in his chest like smoke beneath glass, he let out a wordless roar.

Beneath his glasses, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. He was a fool. He'd had a good career, a good life serving his superiors, and he'd thrown it all away for— for what?

A pale crush? A pair of mournful eyes? A chance encounter?

And now he was disgraced, thrown out by the highbloods like a used towel.

He was to be executed in a perigree, or sooner if they were able to find somebody with the time. He began sweating just thinking about it.

He'd been E%ecutor Darkleer, the best of the best! And now he was simply another name on the list, waiting on borrowed time before somebody bothered to cull him.

To make matters worse, there was nobody who cared about him. Seemingly nobody remembered the name Executor Darkleer anymore, and he hated how his legacy could be forgotten so quickly.

Anger filled him, an emotion so hot and consuming that his vision tunneled. With another roar, he whirled around, dropping his bow and thrusting his fists into the nearest tree. Wood cracked and splintered beneath his knuckles. Again and again he pummeled the trunk, beating it mercilessly until it'd toppled over and his fists bled indigo over the forest floor.

Still, the anger burned within him. Three more trees went the same way, before he calmed enough to realize that, beneath the anger, there was the shame.

Shame for betraying what he'd been working for his entire life. Shame for being cowardly. Shame for looking into those soul-killed olive eyes. . . .

Something hit his chest, sending him stumbling backwards. Still half-blind with anger, he struck out. Pain flashed across his brow and indigo blood flowed into his eyes. There was a satisfying thud as his fist connected with something solid. Whatever he'd hit yelped as they hit a tree. After taking off his glasses and rubbing the blood from his eyes, Darkleer recognized his assailant. It was none other than the troll he was here to find.

Olive blood dripped from a gash in her right forearm, and she looked half-feral, twigs on her hair and a wild gleam in her eyes. With another screech, she attacked him.

Darkleer cried out, although he wasn't sure what she said. He struggled to get away from her, but she was like a firestorm.

Relentlessly she attacked him, her claws scraping marks in his skin that bled and stung. No matter how many times he pushed her away and tried to get her to stop, she attacked him. Finally, he threw himself at her, pinning her to the ground with the arms at her sides. It took a conscious effort to not snap her arms beneath his palms, and she struggled for only a second before flopping back limply.

He was sweating so much, given their current position, that he didn't realize at first that she was no longer fighting.

She was crying, olive-tinted tears falling down her face. It wasn't a pretty cry. Her entire face was screwed up and spit and snot covered the lower half of her face.

It was the way a falcon cried when it lost its wings. The way a mountain cried as the rain sheared off its skin. The way one who has lost everything but life would cry.

Unable to take his hands off of her to wipe the sweat off of himself, Darkleer managed to stutter out a quick, "S-stop crying." His voice was a deep rumble, like two boulders scraping against each other in his chest.

In answer, she tilted her head back, baring her throat. "Kill me," she whispered.

"I c-can't," Darkleer gasped, horrified.

Her voice rose into a feral screech. "Kill me!" When he still didn't move for his weapon, she continued weeping. "How could you do this to me?!" she sobbed, "Why would you rip my soul from my body and force me to continue living?!"

Another keening wail broke from her throat and, feeling ill, Darkleer jerked away from her. She lay still, her sobs the only sounds in the still air.

"Why do I have to kill you?" he demanded. She didn't answer.

Darkleer squeezed his eyes shut and, pulling a towel from his pocket, scrubbed at his face. The towel came away soaked with sweat and blood, but he kept sweating anyways.

Their eyes met, indigo clashing with olive, and her sobs worsened. "Kill me!" she begged, "Kill me, oh god, _please_ , kill me kill me kill me kiLL ME KILL ME!"

His hand spasmed, responding to the horribly pale feelings in his blood-pumper, and suddenly he was _petting_ her. Stunned by such blatantly pale advances, she stared at him, eyes wide and owlish.

His fingers — dirty and sweaty and with cracked fingernails — threaded their way through her hair, which was oily and dirty and hopelessly tangled with twigs and leaves. It calmed them both, slowing his thundering blood-pumper and calming her frantic crying.

Tears still ran freely from her eyes, but her breathing slowly regained its normal rhythm.

Once he decided she was calm enough, Darkleer said, voice still shaking slightly, "I can't kill you."

Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "Why not?"

Darkleer hesitated. He'd killed her matesprit with only the slightest hesitation. What about her — this little oliveblood — forced him to lower his bow? Not able to think of an answer, he retorted, "Why don't you just kill yourself?"

Her fingers curled into fists and she rolled onto her side. She didn't quite turn away from him, but she was only-half facing him now. "It's not that simple," she whispered. Distressed, she added, "The Dolorosa and the Psiioniic are still alive. I'm still alive. Don't I owe it to them to find them? They've given me so much, and what do I have to offer them now!" A low, bitter laugh bubbled uncontrollably from her lips, and she curled into a tighter ball. "It's just so _hard_." His finger accidentally brushed the base of her horn and she shivered. "I can't do it. It _hurts_ to live. It hurts so _bad_ and I can't _stand it_." Plaintively, she looked at him again. "But if someone were to kill me . . . I could just _go_ and it would be so _easy_."

Darkleer looked away. He just kept petting her, because he couldn't kill her. "I-I'm sorry."

She pushed his hand away from her head. There was an exhaustion in her eyes that made her look dead on her feet. She sat up then, rubbing her palm against her face in a useless attempt to get rid of the tears and snot. "Fine."

He caught her hand, eyes widening. "Are you going to leave?"

Her answer was clipped and startlingly icy after her breakdown. "Yes."

Horrified, he asked, "Will I see you again?"

Her expression hardened. "What gives you the right to see me, after what you've done?"

The sick feeling was rising in his stomach again, and he dropped her hand as if it'd grown as hot as coals. "Are you going to die?"

Her eyes became far away, and she stood. "I don't know," she admitted.

The words gushed out of him before he could stop them. "I'm to be culled in a perigree."

She snorted. "Good for you."

His distress rising, Darkleer pleaded, "I need to see you again." Where had this come from, his obsession with her?

She stayed very still for so long he thought she wasn't going to answer. Finally, she said, "Bring me my book."

Thick brow furrowing, he asked, "Your book?"

The fire returned. "Yes! My book! The highbloods wouldn't have burned it, I know. It's got much more than _sermons_ , you know. It has plans, maps, evidence against highbloods who don't deserve to fall because of all of this! Get it and bring it to me, and I'll see you twice more before you're culled."

He was so desperate that he didn't even bother to think about how hard it'd be to find her book, much less retrieve it. "Yes," he gasped, like a scalebeast out of water, "I'll get it."

She nodded and, without another word, turned and raced away.

Left alone in the ruins of fallen trees, Darkleer hugged his knees to his chest and cried like the wiggler he felt he was.


	14. Dreamed (7)

The Dolorosa was completely confused by her wards. At one point, she'd been convinced that they'd had red crushes on each other, and she would have willingly blessed whatever relationship might have come from that.

That had been almost four perigrees ago. Since then, they'd gone through phases similar to quadrant swapping but more intense. They teased each other mercilessly, provided emotional support, kept the other in check, and went out of their ways to show affection for each other.

The Dolorosa finished ticking off their most recent attitudes towards each other on her fingers, and she sighed, frowning. That just didn't add up. That included all four quadrants, and quadrant flipping normally referred to the concupiscent quadrants, not the others.

Chewing her lower lip, she examined her wards. Meulin was teaching Kankri a game with dice that she'd undoubtedly picked up from the bar they'd visited yesterday (the Dolorosa regretted telling them they had an hour to themselves; Meulin had learned much more than she would've expected). Kankri was frowning, but he obediently flicked the dice. Whatever happened, he must've done horribly, because Meulin let out a shout of laughter and jabbed her elbow into his ribs, teasing him.

Kankri flushed bright red and snapped back, but that only made her laugh harder. The Dolorosa sighed, her lips quirking into a smile. Whatever their relationship was, they were happy, and so she would be happy as well.

Deciding not to worry about it, the Dolorosa pushed the matter to the back of her mind. She would wait until they brought it up.

In the end, it was Kankri who finally gave her the chance to really talk about it. Meulin had gone off hunting, and, as it would normally take her a couple hours, it was left to the Dolorosa and Kankri to set up camp. Kankri and Meulin were still adolescents at that point, although they were old enough to be bouncing titles off one another to see how they sounded. Kankri, after he'd finished cutting wood, sort of awkwardly asked, "Do you want help with that?"

The Dolorosa looked at him, startled. As she normally did at the end of the week, she was repairing their clothes, stitching together the rips and tears. Due to the very nature of their existence, their clothes required repairs more often than they didn't. Her son, as much as she adored him, literally couldn't sew to save his own life. Sensing that he had something in his mind and knowing that he'd get there eventually, the jadeblood nodded. "Why not? See if you can do this; Meulin ripped her skirt again." She handed him what she'd been working on and grabbed one of her own shirts, which had gotten stabbed full of holes when she'd accidentally stumbled into a thorny bush when searching for berries a couple days before.

Kankri was silent for a while, struggling with the needle and thread, brow furrowed in concentration. The Dolorosa was content to work in silence, although she listened when he finally began to speak. Awkwardly, he asked, "Do you ever get sick of seeing?"

Kankri was so _clearly_ distracted that the jadeblood couldn't help laughing a little. He looked up, abashed.

"I meant sewing!"

Still laughing, the Dolorosa said warmly, "I know, dear. The answer is no to both, but you already knew that."

Kankri changed the subject, obviously unable to think of a comeback. "It's a nice night."

The Dolorosa nodded. "Meulin should be coming back soon. I hope we'll have enough time to cook and clean before the sun rises."

Reminded that Meulin would be returning soon, Kankri bit his lip. Ah. So there was the source of the problem.

She put down her needle and thread and asked, "Is there something on your mind?"

He looked at her, chagrined. "Was it that obvious?"

"Just a little," she said wryly.

Kankri sighed and put down Meulin's skirt. "I just—" He shook his head. "I don't know." The Dolorosa waited. "It's Meulin," he whispered finally.

The Dolorosa couldn't help it; her grin widened. "What about her?"

Kankri looked up helplessly. "She confuses me! Sometimes I think she's interested in a proper flushed relationship with me but most of the time she just keeps sending me mixed signals." He shrugged, frowning. "When you were in the brooding caverns, did you ever get this confused by somebody?"

Taken aback, both by the question and the revelation that Kankri was just as confused as she was, the Dolorosa shook her head. "I— no. I never really had any real relationships, and only dabbled briefly in the conciliatory quadrants."

Kankri sighed. "Why is she so confusing?"

As she'd been considered the neighborhood expert in auspisticism back before she'd been brought to the brooding caverns, the Dolorosa was able to reply immediately. "How do you feel about her?"

Kankri opened his mouth and then closed it. Slightly sheepishly, he admitted, "I don't know?" He thought briefly and then added, "I mean, I know for sure that I love her. But my blood-pumper can't seem to decide on one quadrant?" He looked briefly afraid. "What if she thinks I'm being greedy, trying to drag her into every quadrant with me?"

The Dolorosa reached out and stroked his hair. No matter how old he would get, he would still lean into her touch. "Meulin is an outspoken girl, Kankri. If she's uncomfortable with your advances, it's likely she'll tell you outright."

Kankri sighed, playing with his sleeves. "Maybe I should just try to pick a quadrant and be done with it? Is this type of vacillation normal?"

"Not at all," the Dolorosa said mildly. Something struck her as she pulled her fingers from her son's hair. Almost to herself, she mused, "I suppose it's natural that your love wouldn't follow the quadrants as neatly as others; your upbringing was hardly normal."

"I'd prefer this upbringing over having a proper lusus," Kankri said immediately, eyes glowing with sincerity.

The Dolorosa's heart warmed at his words, and she leaned forwards to kiss his forehead. He flushed and leaned a little away, which made her laugh. "If I have to guess," she said finally, "I'd say you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Meulin. I believe you were the first to send her conflicting signals, and she's simply responded likewise, if with a bit more vigor."

Kankri nibbled his lower lip. "Do you think she'd still agree to date me, even if we're not in a proper quadrant?"

The Dolorosa shrugged. "That's her decision, although you'll never know until you ask." She had known that they would start dating eventually, and found now that she really didn't mind, especially as they were interested in each other.

Kankri asked, "Mama, do you think Meu—" He was interrupted when Meulin herself came crashing through the bushes, dragging a musclebeast behind her.

"I'm back!" she announced, flashing a smile, "And I'm starving."

Face bright red, Kankri leaped to his feet. "R-right." The Dolorosa shook her head and stood to help as well, a slight smile on her lips.

Several weeks later, Meulin approached her with the same dilemma. Unlike Kankri, she wasted no time bandying about or trying to figure out how to word things. She more or less ordered Kankri to go fishing by himself and then sat herself down besides the Dolorosa. Bluntly and without and shyness, she said, "Mama-Porrim, I'm going to ask your fluff-headed son to date me."

Shocked, the Dolorosa only said, "Okay."

Meulin's lips quirked into an open grin and she giggled a little. "Sorry, that was a little rude. But I really am, because he's either too shy to ask me first or he's just too dense to realize I'm flirting with him."

The Dolorosa was unable to resist smiling — again. Who cared what quadrant her wards were in; they were adorable either way. "It's probably a little of both." Meulin shrugged and nibbled on something leftover from lunch. When she didn't say anything else, the Dolorosa prodded, "Were you going to ask what quadrant you two are in?"

Meulin blinked in surprise. "Huh? No. Why would I do that?"

She never failed to surprise. The Dolorosa admitted, "I'm not sure. I just assumed, because you both flirt with each other in all four quadrants."

Meulin shrugged. "I don't care about that," she said firmly, "Kanny might, because he overthinks things. But he's just silly. I don't care what quadrant we're in. I don't care if we're even in a quadrant. After all, it's just love, right?" Her olive eyes were bright, and it was clear that she'd put a considerable amount of thought into this. "And love beyond the quadrants sounds _so_ romantic anyways. But there's no way that Kankri would ever love or hate like other trolls. I mean, he was raised on a love that can't be classified into any of the quadrants, right?"

The Dolorosa pulled the stick that the oliveblood was now chewing on away from her. "I suppose."

Meulin shoved her surrogate mother's shoulder. "Porrim!" she exclaimed, "We both know how awkward it gets when strangers ask what quadrant you and Kanny are in; love beyond the quadrants isn't exactly a new concept." She picked up another stick and stuck it into her mouth. "Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that I was going to ask him out."

The Dolorosa took that stick, too. "Go ahead, dear."

Meulin giggled, shoulders falling back and relaxing. "Thanks, Mama-Porrim."

In the end, it was Meulin who finally made her and Kankri's relationship official. The redblood nearly cried with relief when he learned that she couldn't care less about the quadrants while Meulin teased him good naturedly. The Dolorosa watched them from afar, a bittersweet smile on her lips, but she gave them their space. They were her children, yes, but it was time they grew up.


	15. Howled (12)

The Grand Highblood sat very still on his throne. He slumped as he sat, his purple eyes half-lidded. The throne room was empty and utterly silent, which was rare. The domed ceiling and size of the room meant that any sound echoed, and silence could get louder than the screams of the tortured sometimes.

There was a thud that seemed a thousand times louder than it should've been as one of the many doors opened. His eyes shuttled to the side, but he gave no other sign that he'd heard. He recognized her instantly. The vivid teal and candy red gave her away as a legislacerator.

While they had plenty of legislacerators in the fortress, she was the only one who acted completely at ease. The others wandered through the dark corridors with terrified eyes, jumping at every little sound. In contrast to that, she stalked right up to his throne, her heels sending up a cacophony of smart little taps that echoed through the room. Fearlessly, she came up right in front of him, mutant red glasses glinting in the torchlight. "Well?" she snapped, her sharp teeth flashing as she grinned tauntingly at him, "You going to drag your lazy ass to sleep?"

He blinked slowly, lethargically. She leaned close to to him and giggled. Messiahs, how he hated her giggles. They grated on his ears and insulted laughter. He snarled, "You're all up in my motherfucking personal space, Pyrope."

Her giggle turned into a full-on cackle, and she clapped her hands onto his cheeks. "I'll get further into your personal space, my big clown asshole."

His eyes flashed a myriad of different colors, but her glasses needed to be off for the chucklevoodoos to effect her. Well, that could be easily remedied. Too lazy to pick his hands up, the Grand Highblood lunged forwards. His sharp teeth slipped easily over her pointed shades, and he pulled them off and spat them into his lap.

She blinked at him. "The fuck?" Lips curling upwards in irritation, she slid her fingers up his face, smudging his paint as she did.

"Gotta see your eyes, candylawyer," he said, his own lips curling upwards into a terrifying grin. Her eyes were lovely, an even more vivid teal than her blood (which was fun to play with). Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

"What've you been smoking?" she demanded.

His eyes flickered different colors again, and he felt a spike of pleasure at the fear that jolted up her spine. Her hands grow clammy against his face and her breathing became short and raspy. The Grand Highblood's grin widened. Motherfuck, but she looked hot when she was all riled up like this.

The grin vanished when she stepped on his foot, because her heels _hurt._ His eyes returned to their normal purple-red color and she snapped, dark brows drawn low over her eyes, "Fucking shit, Kurloz! I told you not to use your damn chucklevoodoos!"

He chuckled at that, his foot sliding out and knocking her off her feet. She yelped as she fell, and he unceremoniously grabed her and pulled her onto his lap. She was sharp and bony, her elbows digging into his flesh painfully. She was also very small, especially when compared to him. "But they're all up in my think pan, my wicked pailmate."

She shot him a withering glare and searched his lap for her glasses. Unable to find them, she snapped, "We're not pailing on your throne again! I nearly broke my legs last time."

He laughed again, his eyes gleaming unnaturally in the dim light. "Nah, I'm not feeling up to pailing and all tonight."

She groaned deep in her throat. "Why the hell did you call me in here for?"

"I didn't call you," he said sagely, "Must've been the miracles."

"We both know that's bullshit," she said bluntly, teal eyes narrowing, "I was in the middle of very important work when one of your asinine followers told me to come here."

The Grand Highblood's tongue dropped out of his mouth as he thought. He was very calm right now, the way a lake could seem like glass if it was calm enough. "I never sent nobody, Latuliza."

She blinked at him. "Huh." He rested his chin on top of her head and she promptly pinched the skin between his thumb and forefinger. "Damn it, Kurloz, you _know_ your chin is bony!"

"Sorry, candylawyer." They sat together in silence. It wasn't quite cuddling, as they were both too bony to cuddle comfortably, but it was something. She kept wiggling, trying to dig into his legs as much as she could, and he took to rubbing his face paint onto her face. Used to it, she let him trail his long fingers around her lips and eyes. She didn't normally paint her lips or eyes teal, but today she had. He loved it, loved using the teal and the grey and white to create a subjugglator's mask for her.

Their scuffles were broken when a loud knock came from one of the doors. Immediately, she hissed, "Let me up."

The Grand Highblood promptly flopped over, pinning her between his legs and his torso. She let out an undignified screech and clamped her teeth down into his bony wrist.

He sat up and blinked at her as if she were a very interesting fish. "That's not right," he informed her, and she released him. Tiny droplets of purple blood sprouted about his wrist.

"You taste horrible," she retorted wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, smudging the paint. Her eyes lit up when she spotted her glasses, which had fallen to the floor. Leaning down, she slammed it onto the bridge of her nose and sank into the darkness behind his throne.

The Grand Highblood roared, "All up an' come in, wicked brothersister!"

The door directly across from his throne swung open. A female subjugglator entered, bringing with her a short blueblood girl wearing garb typical of a gamblignant. The subjugglator's purple eyes shuttled from the Grand Highblood to the Neophyte and back again. Her lips curled into a smile beneath her face paint, and she said, "Your Lordship, sir. This wicked sister wants to get her talk on for you."

The Grand Highblood's expression immediately became fearsome, his vacant purple eyes coming alive with a red glint. "What's your name, sister?"

The blueblood bowed, the jewelry in her antler-like horns jingling as she did so. "I'm the Magician," she said.

He let out a roar. "I didn't ask for your motherfucking title, did I?!"

Eyes wide, the blueblood shook her head. "N-no. I'm Selmie Hiddil."

The Grand Highblood leaned forwards intently. "What are you all up and here for, little saltblood?"

Her expression remained impressively impassive. "I'm here with information about heretics."

The Grand Highblood's eyes twitched to the side, where Redglare stood in the shadows. She hadn't managed to wipe all of the face paint off. His lips curled into a grin. All she'd managed to do was smudge it.

The Magician cleared her throat. "Your Lordship?"

The Grand Highblood looked back at her. No, he didn't feel like talking to her right now. He'd been having fun with his kismesis, and now that she'd come in, things were _boring._ "Why don't you get your explain on and hurry it the fuck up?"

The blueblood blinked. She was nervous, although she hid it well. "There's a group of trolls near my hive, and they've been going around wearing the heretic symbols."

Boring. "Do something funny," he ordered, "Get your motherfucking humor all up and on."

Bewildered, the Magician asked, "Your Lordship?"

The Grand Highblood's eyes began to flash different colors. The blueblood began to sweat, her fingernails biting into her palms and her face growing pale. "Tell. Me. A. Motherfucking JOKE, _saltblood_!"

The blueblood was stammering, eyes growing wide. She'd lost all composure. She shook like a newly birthed woolbeast on a windy day. Cackling delightedly, the Grand Highblood leaped nimbly from his chair, his colorful clubs suddenly clutched within his massive hands.

Behind him, Neophyte Redglare unsheathed her blade. She didn't move however, and the subjugglator who'd brought in the blueblood let out a whoop, backing away to watch the carnage.

 _Blood will be spilt this day._

The blueblood never stood a chance. The Grand Highblood completely, utterly destroyed her. He did it slowly, laughing hysterically whenever she screamed. And oh, did she scream.

First he ripped her arms off. He let her run, sobbing, as she struggled to open the heavy doors without her hands.

But the doors opened inwards, and she was cornered as the Grand Highblood smashed her legs to dust. Pale blue blood — the color of the day sky — spilled across the dark floor. It was a pretty enough color, for all that it was blue, and the Grand Highblood dipped his fingers into it as her screams echoed across the domed ceiling. He beckoned his kismesis over, and she willingly padded closer.

"Look at it," he told her, his wide grin eerie beneath his red eyes, "Such a motherfucking pity, isn't it? Spilling it all over the floor like that? Such a _motherfucking pity_ , candylawyer."

She raised her eyebrows beneath her glasses. "You're high," she said bluntly, "High off blood, you ass."

He touched her face with his blood soaked fingers, smearing sky blue beside the grey and teal already there. She swatted his hand away. "Hurry up and kill the thing already," she said, smirking at him with that self-satisfied smile he'd have loved so dearly to smack off her face.

"Not gonna get my hurry on, lovely girl, not even for you." Despite his words, he turned and flat-out _ripped_ the blueblood's head off. Blood spurted in a fountain, spraying both the Grand Highblood and his girl. She hissed in distaste, stepping away. Always so crisply clean, her clothes were now stained with blood.

"I'm gonna kill you for that," she declared.

"Not before I get you," he replied firmly, dragging the troll's head towards his throne. Running his hands along the severed neck, he began to paint the walls. She wrinkled her nose as she watched. There was a pattern to his art, she knew, although the pattern was beyond her understanding. The sky blue fit prettily beside purples and greens.

The other subjugglator took her leave then, but neither the Grand Highblood nor the Neophyte noticed. He was too intent upon his painting, and she on trying to figure out the rhythm of his art. When he'd finished, there was still plenty of blood leftover, not to mention the limbs scattered across the room.

"Candylawyer, do a brother a favor and cull those motherfucking heretics."

This was always a precarious part of their relationship. She had no trouble hunting down and bringing criminals to justice. But he would never let her forget her own dabbling on the other side of the law, just as she would never forgive him for his part in bringing the ultimate heretic to justice.

Still, she smiled at him, all sharp teeth and wicked eyes. "Anytime, brother mine."


	16. Intertwined (8)

Latula vividly remembered the first time she'd heard about the Signless. Having been little more than a student of the law at the time, she'd been sitting in the corner of the court while the older legislacerators mingled and chatted.

The young tealblood sighed, nibbling on her rather unappetizing lunch, watching as a group of males standing relatively near her talked. She wished she could skip all the training and get straight to hunting down criminals. That sounded _so_ much easier than memorizing all these dumb books and taking tests.

One of the trolls commented, "Have you heard about the Signless' most recent sermon? It caused a riot in Silasbeck."

Latula's ears perked up. She'd heard rumors about a troll that went around preaching about equality for all, but she'd never managed to glean any actual information on him. Later she would realize that this was because the Signless' Sermons were still a fairly new idea at the time. Swiveling around to focus on the speaker, her teal eyes narrowed behind her tinted glasses.

"Mmhmm," the tallest in the group replied, "I'm surprised the highbloods haven't sent one of us down to nab him yet." Latula knew that by "us" he meant the Legislacerators, and felt a stir of excitement. It was always exciting whenever a legislacerator from her particular branch was assigned a job, because, if the target wasn't considered too dangerous, they would bring the neophytes along to learn.

"Yeah," chimed the only female, "They usually have us give it a try before dirtying their precious hands." There were some good-natured chuckles at that, but then a quiet troll in the back spoke.

"They probably don't want us getting any ideas. I mean, we're known for doing what we think is just, and our laws are of a different sort from theirs. And isn't that what the Signless is preaching? Justness? Fairness? Equality?"

The troll who had brought up the topic in the first place hissed and glanced around. "Shut up! Do you want to get in trouble?"

The quiet troll replied, his voice dropping slightly, "Well? It's true. Half of us would run off and join him if he wasn't preaching about nonviolence too."

"I wouldn't," snapped the female, "Unlike some trolls, I know what _loyalty_ is."

The quiet troll shrugged, and the conversation veered off until they were talking about who was dating who and in which quadrants. Latula stared at them hard, her eyes boring holes in their backs. She was no longer listening.

She needed to meet this Signless. She needed to hear what he said, to decide for herself what equality was.

It was the first law of being a legislacerator. Above all else, fight for what is just. After all, how could they judge others if they were swayed by unjust forces?

Unfortunately for the aspiring legislacerator, she would find it very difficult to catch hold of the Signless. In what little free time she had in between her studies and training and caring for Pyralspite, she combed her city and the surrounding cities for signs of the Signless.

For all of her skill, she came up with absolutely nothing.

The Signless and his followers were extremely good at covering their tracks and flawless when it came to letting only the right trolls know where and when they would be holding sermons. Being a tealblood, Latula found herself outside of that range. Even if she did find a troll who most definitely knew something, they refused to tell her.

There was also the matter of covering her own tracks. If the legislacerators found out that one of their own was searching for the Signless, she would surely be punished, if not culled.

It would be almost a full sweep before she found anything, some time after she'd graduated and become a neophyte legislacerator, adopting the name Redglare.

Redglare was wandering through the streets of Tipor, one of the multiple cities in one of the many jungle-like forests of Alternia. While she liked trees, this particular city was too hot for her liking. Unfortunately, she couldn't leave. Her superiors had told her to stay here until otherwise notified, and stay here she would. She probably wouldn't have listened unless they'd strongly implied that she would be given somebody to hunt here, but that was besides the point.

Redglare wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings as she walked, choosing instead to focus on keeping as cool as possible. The streets were scattered with trolls, most of them sitting and drinking whatever they could get their hands on. Pyralspite hadn't come with her this time; it was too much trouble to watch the dragon lusus in a city like this one, which was both made entirely out of wood and too cramped for the large lusus.

A troll came out of a street that met the large street just in front of Redglare. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have been an issue, but this particular troll had a large plank over her shoulder. Redglare barely had time to register that there was, in fact, wood coming straight for her face before it hit her.

The long plank hit her right in the middle of her nose, and she let out a yelp as the blow sent her flying onto her back. Blinking away stars, she sat up, groaning at the pain that flared around her nose. The diminutive troll who had been holding the plank promptly dropped it, letting out a cry as well. She dropped down beside Redglare, hastily saying, "I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going. Oh, god— Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Redglare promised, but she could feel the blood pouring from her nose.

"I'm sorry," the other troll repeated, olive eyes wide. She ripped a sliver from her skirt and handed it to the other troll. "Here, use this to stop the bleeding. I'm really very sorry," she repeated, "I should've been watching where I was going."

"It's fine," Redglare repeated through a mouthful of blood, "I should've been paying more attention." She looked down mournfully at her outfit, which was now stained with blood. Oh, well. At least she had multiple sets.

The oliveblood frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah," the neophyte legislacerator said with a warm smile, "S'nothing." She did, however, take the proffered strip of cloth and use it to plug up the bleeding.

"Huh."

Redglare looked at the kneeling oliveblood, who was still frowning, her large eyes puzzled. "What?"

She shrugged, her bushy hair rippling with the movement. "Nothing. I just expected different from a highblood."

Redglare flushed teal and hastily said, "I'm not that high up on the henospectrum!"

The little oliveblood grinned, baring her fangs. "Still higher than me," she purred, giggling slightly.

Redglare shrugged. "I still bleed the same, don't I?" She gestured loosely at her bloody nose. "What do you need the wood for, anyways?"

The oliveblood hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. Finally, she asked, "Can I tell you a secret?"

Instantly on guard, Redglare asked, "What type?"

She replied, tone rather matter-of-fact, "One that you need to keep."

Redglare was silent, quietly thinking it over. Once she promised something, she had to keep it. It was just something she did. On one hand, making a random promise like this could get her into serious trouble. On the other, she was too curious a troll to _not_ agree. With a sigh, the legislacerator agreed, "Fine."

The oliveblood's face split into a wide smile. "Excellent." She looked around to make sure nobody was listening in. They weren't; it was too hot for anybody sane to be out. Still, she leaned closer and dropped her voice, "At sunset, a mile south of here, if you follow the river, you'll see a boulder. It's huge, and there's moss on it that's shaped like a bunch of honkbeasts in flight. Remember that?"

Redglare nodded mutely, unable to move, staring frozen into the bright olive eyes of the other troll. Whispering, "Meet me there," the oliveblood slipped a piece of paper into the Neophyte's hands. Without a second glance, she turned away, grabbed her plank, and scurried off.

Startled by the strange instructions, Redglare unfolded the piece of paper. In the center of the paper was a four-square grid, not unlike the ones that older trolls drew to explain the quadrants to younger trolls. Except there weren't any spades or diamonds of hearts or clubs. Instead, there were the symbols of trolls. Starting in the top right and going clockwise was a symbol that resembled an _M_ , a symbol that looked like a gate, and a symbol that looked like a lasso. The last box, in the top left, was completely empty.

Redglare's eyes widened behind her tinted glasses. _The Signless._

She wasted no time going back to the respiteblock where she had been staying and searching for something suitable to wear. The glasses would stay, obviously. But her normal teal and red uniform wouldn't do. If any other legislacerators saw her going to one of the Signless' Sermons, if that's what it was, then she was royally screwed. She couldn't wear too much teal, or else the other trolls at the Sermon might not want her there. After all, the oliveblood earlier had made it clear that even tealbloods were expected to treat lowbloods like shit. She couldn't go without a color, because that would get her culled on the spot, or at the very least reported. In the end, she decided on a simple grey shirt and black tights, opting to wear her bright red boots simply because she liked them. Over that, she wore her cloak, which was a white color with teal scale patterns along the sleeves, hood, and bottom of the cloak. The entire thing was tied off at her neck with a red ribbon that was woven through the open holes in the cloth to form her symbol. Satisfied, Redglare took one last look at herself in the mirror, and left.

It didn't take her long to walk to the boulder, although she wished several times that Pyralspite was here, if only because she would make the journey go faster. She knew that the walk couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, but that didn't change the feeling worming in her gut. What if she was going to the wrong place? What if they didn't want her there? What if she was supposed to bring something, or wear something else? What if what if what if what _if_?

She turned the bend of the river, towards the boulder with the honkbeast when she suddenly understood _why_ she'd been smacked in the face with a plank this morning.

Set up on the shore was a platform made of wooden planks. Two trolls stood upon it. The taller one was a jadeblood, and her eyes travelled around, keenly searching for any sign of danger. The other, a goldblood, was talking to her mildly, his odd multi-colored eyes fixed on the fire that glittered just in front of the stage. Other trolls were scattered about, mostly rustbloods and the occasional greenblood.

Suddenly feeling horribly self-conscious, Redglare stepped forwards. Unsure what to do, she sat down in a stray rock, just on the edge of the light. She could tell immediately that she was the highest blooded troll here, and that made her uneasy for the first time in her life. Sitting there, fiddling with the sleeves of her cloak, she watched as other trolls emerged from all directions. The jadeblood watched all of them come, smiling at them when they greeted her, making sure that they didn't pose any danger. Redglare felt those jade eyes on her, and she stiffened. But she met those eyes and cautiously smiled. To her relief, she received a smile in return.

A little bit after sunset, the goldblood stood and muttered something to the jadeblood. She nodded and he walked off the stage and vanished into the small crowd. There weren't many trolls here, maybe twenty or thirty at the most. Not as many as she'd expected.

Redglare had just begun to get uncomfortable when the jadeblood stepped off the stage and another troll stepped on. There was a collective gasp, and then the entire bank fell silent. The only sounds were the bubble of the river and the footsteps of the troll. He wore a cloak, uncolored and unadorned with any sign. Redglare felt a chill run up her spine.

It really was the Signless.

He pulled his hood down around his shoulders, revealing scruffy hair and a boyish smile that completely offset the weathered look of his face. What caught and held Redglare's gaze, however, were his eyes.

They were unlike any color she had ever seen before, and she pulled off her glasses to see them in their true colors. They almost seemed to glow, like embers hidden in his face. _Yes,_ she thought, _They're like embers._ Impossibly bright, impossibly intense, their light traveled throughout the clearing, meeting the eyes of everyone in turn. When they met hers, his eyes widened and he seemed to freeze. She did, too, but for different reasons, frozen in place by those startled red eyes. He hastily tore his gaze away, and she frowned, confused.

The crowd whispered, but he began to speak. Immediately, everyone fell silent. "I know you're here for some grand speech," the Signless began, "but I like to keep these short and simple. After all, what are we here for?"

The trolls buzzed, and Redglare whispered, "Equality." Not justice. Not yet. But soon.

The Signless nodded, his eyes searching out three spots in the crowd, and Redglare noticed the oliveblood she had bumped into earlier in the day. The diminutive troll was sitting near the front, writing feverishly in a book. "We are here to prove that we can have peace, so that we can see beyond the hemospectrum. Look around you. Who do you see there?

"I see trolls. Short trolls, tall trolls. Trolls with kind eyes and trolls with hard faces. Starving trolls, lucky trolls, trolls all around. I don't see brownbloods or yellowbloods or greenbloods. Here, it doesn't matter what your blood color is. We're here, standing on the same ground, breathing the same air. The highbloods don't own the world, but neither do we."

The Signless took a deep breath, and he continued, "I've seen a world where we all live in peace. Where an oliveblood can have a purpleblood matesprit and a ceruleanblood can chide even a fuschia without getting killed. It's possible for us to live in harmony; I've seen it."

His eyes met hers again, and something passed behind them, a familiarity that seemed distant somehow. He said softly, "I've seen it." She couldn't pay attention after that, although it wasn't for lack of trying. The Signless kept distracting her every time his ember-like gaze passed over her, which occurred with increasing frequency as his sermon went on. Though unable to focus, the meaning of his words somehow found a root at the very center of her being. Without her knowledge or consent, the meaning burrowed deep down until it settled, firmly a part of her and her ideals.

 _Peace. Liberty. Equality._

They were all such huge ideals, and yet he spoke of them as if they could be achieved if everybody just _believed_. And Redglare admired that. She could admire somebody who had obviously seen the weight of the world and still continued to dream.

When he finished speaking, the watching trolls lingered. Several stood and came up to speak to him, shyly, reverently. The Signless stepped off the stage to speak to them on their own level, with an easy wsmile and a full laugh. Other trolls started back the way they'd come, talking excitedly to one another and looking at strangers, wondering what they could do to help this great troll's cause. Redglare had stood to leave when she was stopped. The little oliveblood from earlier in the day ran up, clutching a book to her chest. She grinned widely. "Well? How was it?"

Redglare couldn't help it; she grinned back. "Impressive," she admitted, "I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't . . . that."

The oliveblood laughed, fingering the spine of her book. "I'm very glad you came, you know. It's proof that his message isn't something that just lowbloods understand." Redglare opened her mouth, but the other troll explained, "You're the highest blooded troll to ever come to one of these." After a second of thought, she corrected, "The first who hasn't come to kill us."

Redglare pulled off her hood, shrugging. "I'm surprised. There are tons of tealbloods who are interested." _How interested?_ the back of her mind thought, _When was the last time you heard them whispering about the Signless? Or has it just been your own obsession?_ "After all," she hastily added, "we do kind of have a thing with justice."

The oliveblood held out her hand. "You never did give me your name."

Redglare took it. "Redglare, although I suppose you can call me Neophyte too."

The oliveblood nodded. "I'm the Disciple." Redglare's jaw fell open and her eyes widened behind her tinted glass. She dropped the tiny hand as if it had burned her. The oliveblood smiled wryly and held up her book. "See? I record it all." She turned and shouted towards where the goldblood was destroying the stage, "Signless! Come meet the tealblood I told you about!"

A troll came out from behind the stage and ran over to where they were. Redglare was still reeling from the realization that the _Disciple_ had given her a bloody nose. The Signless grinned at both of them. His hood was still down around his shoulders, and his burning eyes seemed all the more bright up close. He looked at Redglare and frowned. "Weren't they square. . . ?" he asked, almost to himself.

"What?" She awkwardly adjusted her glasses, and then realized what he was talking about. "Oh! When I was younger, they were—" She stopped abruptly. "How did you know what my glasses looked like?"

The Disciple's eyes widened and she let out a squeal. "Ohmygod Signless is it—" He tried to shush her by grabbing her elbow, but she continued anyways. "—Latula?" she finished, olive eyes glowing.

Redglare physically took a step back. "What?" How did they know her name? She wasn't one of those trolls who pretended she didn't have a name, but she certainly didn't go around giving it to random people. She preferred her title, like most adult trolls.

The Signless sighed and ran a hand through his messy black hair. "Sorry, Latula. If the _Disciple here_ had remembered to keep her mouth shut, I might've been able to actually ask for your name."

The Disciple, completely unperturbed, giggled and jumped up and down a couple times. "Oh, don't be so dramatic!"

Redglare cleared her throat, still stunned. "How do you know my name?" she demanded.

The Signless sighed again. "It's a . . . long story. It's better if I don't explain it now."

The Disciple linked her elbow with his, still grinning widely. "Oh, he's being silly." She looked at him. "Don't you think we're supposed to find us all? It can't be a coincidence that she was the first tealblood to come to one of your sermons!"

The Signless clapped a hand over her mouth. His hands were so large and her face was so small that his fingers covered everything below her eyes. "And that's enough from you." She squirmed under his hand, but didn't appear at all alarmed. He looked at Redglare, and he smiled. "What would you like us to call you?"

She hesitated, deciding. "I'm Neophyte Redglare, but . . . if you know my name, you might as well call me that."

"Emffelent," the Disciple mumbled.

The Signless jerked his hand away from her, exploding, "Don't lick me!"

The Disciple kept laughing, and Redglare felt her own lips twitching. It was strange, to her at least, that two trolls who were practically legends could act so childish. The Signless groaned and shouted over his shoulder, "Rosa, the Disciple licked me!"

"Lick her back, dear." The reply came from the tall jadeblood who was helping the goldblood get rid of the stage.

This time Redglare couldn't help herself; she let out a snort of laughter. The Signless hesitated, and then he held out his hand. "Anyways. I'm Kankri, although you can call me whatever you want."

"Oooooh, are we doing hatchnames?" the Disciple asked, still clinging to the Signless' arm. "I'm Meulin. The grumpy goldblood back there — the Psiioniic — is Mituna, and the Dolorosa is Porrim, although you'll probably call her Dolorosa because she likes traditions and all that."

Redglare opened her mouth, feeling remarkably at ease in a situation like this. "I—"

"You're free to join us tonight," the Signless said, "Unless you have somewhere else to be."

The Neophyte looked at these trolls, the trolls she'd subconsciously put on a pedestal in her mind. She saw the Signless trying to pull his arm away from the Disciple, saw the Dolorosa and the Psiioniic bickering familiarly in the background, saw the way the Disciple yelped as her matesprit stepped on her foot. They were trolls. Simply trolls. Not gods and not saints and not anything more or less than trolls. Redglare smiled. "I'd love to," she said firmly. She grinned teasingly, flashing her sharp teeth for the world to see. "And I expect an explanation for how you know my name."


	17. Summoned (Endgame)

**This will unfortunately be the last chapter in this series! It's partially because I ran out of inspiration but mostly because my headcanons have changed a lot, and I can no longer write this without feeling a little odd. I will, however, be writing other Ancestors fics, although they'll likely be a long time coming. I do intend to finish _Dead_ and to write a sequel to _Sealed Lips_ eventually, so stay tuned for that. **

**Originally, the chapters marked Endgame would signify the end of a specific character's arc, or their death. As this is the first endgame chapter, I suppose it's fitting that it's the last chapter, eh? Anyways, I'd like to thank all of my lurkers for staying with me until the end. I'd also like to thank Marna21 for reviewing this story so regularly! It really means a lot to me!**

* * *

She protested strongly against it, but he did it anyways.

The Summoner was going to visit the Grand Highblood and strike a deal with him. It was time. The rebellion could go nowhere without highblood help, as much as he hated to admit it.

Mindfang was furious. Every day, she would follow him around, berating him and telling him what an idiot he was for thinking he could make a deal with the Grand Highblood. She would swear and throw fits and undermine his every word.

Finally, he exploded, "Stop it!"

Mindfang crossed her arms and snarled, "Stop what? Stop trying to talk sense into you?!"

The Summoner groaned and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. His nerves were on end at the very thought of talking to the Grand Highblood, and his matesprit wasn't helping. "I'm going to do it," he insisted, ignoring her snort of derision, "It doesn't matter what you say."

Mindfang let out a strange sound, but she didn't move. Her eyes narrowed and the corners of her lips twisted down.

"Just," he began, looking at her and taking her hands in his, "Just _please_ stop. I need you, Aranea. I need your support now. I can't—"

She ripped her hands from his. In that moment, she reminded him of an angry meowbeast. "If you talk to him, then you won't have a matesprit anymore!" she spat.

The Summoner froze, shocked. "What?" He couldn't believe her. "You're breaking up with me now?!" he demanded.

She let out a scream of frustration, turning away and grabbing her sword's hilt with an iron grip. "No!" She muttered something indistinguishable. Cerulean eye blazing, she added, "If you go, I'm going to die!"

The Summoner reached out to try and grab her elbow, but he missed. Still, she heard him and turned her head to glare at him. "Aranea—" he began.

She snapped, "The Oracle gave me the date of my death, Summoner! Don't try and argue with me!"

Hearing that word made him snap. Feeling anger rising in his chest, the Summoner had to make a conscious effort to keep his wings limp. "I don't give a shit about your Oracle, Aranea! Would you really trust that . . . that _thing_ over your matesprit?" Seeing her open her mouth, he added, "Why would I kill you? Why would I _ever_ hurt you, Aranea?"

He saw the distrustful look that crossed her face, and he swore vehemently. "Why can't you trust me?" he demanded, "I promised you I would never hurt you—"

"And yet the Oracle never lies." Mindfang sighed, running a hand through her wild hair. He saw the muscles in her shoulders and back relax as she did so, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

His wings relaxed and fluttered softly, and, without thinking, he reached out and pulled Mindfang's eyepatch free. She recoiled instinctively, but he slipped it around her horns and hair with the ease of practice. Now that he was significantly calmer and that he could see both of her eyes, he saw the thinly veiled fear that lurked behind her anger.

The Summoner sat down and buried his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do. His matesprit was convinced that he was going to kill her. The rebellion needed them both. The rebellion needed the Grand Highblood if they wanted to start turning around the hemospectrum. Aranea believed that that would be her death. He had built his entire life around this rebellion; he _needed_ it to succeed. On the other hand, he wasn't sure how well he'd be able to lead without her.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up. Without a word, Mindfang crawled into his lap and pressed her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The Summoner instinctively kissed her back. He loved how she kissed. She always kissed him with the same ferocity, the same desperation. Only later would he realize it was because she'd known all along that he would kill her. When she pulled away, her mismatched eyes were exhausted.

"I'd prefer," she said simply, "to die without any last quarrels."

He pushed her off of him and stood up, shaking his wings. Decidedly, he said firmly, "You're not going to die."

She pursed her lips and looked away.

He said fiercely, "You're not! I'm going to see the Grand Highblood and prove it to you; _you will not die_."

Mindfang sighed and stood. "Oh, Summoner," she murmured.

In the end, she walked beside him as he entered the Grand Highblood's palace. He was familiar with its dark corridors and its lurking inhabitants, although it gave him the same chills it always had.

He hated feeling the watchful eyes of the subjugglators, hated seeing the color purple everywhere.

He looked at his matesprit. She had changed into the elaborate outfit she had worn when she'd been a gamblignant, and her eyes — both of them exposed — gleamed with a haughty indifference.

She was a good actor.

He reflected upon what she'd said when he'd woken up in the middle of the day and found her staring out the window. _I thought I'd come to terms with this a long time ago. Funny how it turns out, isn't it? After all this time, I'm still afraid. I'm still afraid to die._

He grit his teeth. He would keep his promise. She wouldn't die.

Before they'd entered, he had told her to wait outside. She'd glared at him and told him she'd be damned if she let him see the Grand Highblood alone.

He caught a glimpse of red and teal. So there were legislacerators here as well. That wasn't as reassuring as it should have been, considering that they more or less worked for the Grand Highblood now.

The subjugglator they were following pointed wordlessly to a set of huge double doors, undoubtedly telling them to go in. Remembering this from his time as a cavalreaper, the Summoner nodded, but didn't speak. He felt more than saw Mindfang gesture at the subjugglator. He had to force himself not to glare at her, assuming she'd done something rude. But the subjugglator snorted and grinned, which was normally a good sign.

And then the two rebels were ushered through the doors.

The Summoner grimaced. The Grand Highblood's throne room was as massive as always, and the troll himself was easy twice as tall as the Summoner. The blood splatters sharply outlined the tyrant, and he could smell the remains of something long dead.

Grimacing, remembering the times when he'd had to grovel and bow and keep his wings hidden, the Summoner stepped forwards and met the eyes of the very troll who had sent thousands into their graves.

 _In that respect_ , the Summoner thought, not without a hint of morbidity, _we aren't all that different._

The Grand Highblood leaned over his throne, an eerie grin settling over his painted features. "Well if it isn't the motherfucking Summoner."

The Summoner smiled back, but his smile was mirthless. He knew perfectly well that in order to survive this encounter he needed to keep the purpleblood amused. That was always dangerous, as the Highblood tended to be the most amused when his victims were screaming and dismembered.

"And it's Mind-motherfucking-fang. Good of you to visit, li'l cerulean."

Mindfang flashed her fangs in a smile that could've made adult trolls wet their pants. "Believe me, Highblood, I've had plenty reason to stay away."

The Grand Highblood grunted. "You're still cocky as all motherfuckers."

She raised her chin, her mismatched eyes gleaming. "As if that would've changed."

The Summoner watched warily. He'd been unaware that the two had met. He realized, again, that he was unaware of much about her. He would ask after this. If directly asked, she rarely refused an answer. And she never lied.

The Grand Highblood's eyes narrowed. But then his faintly red eyes turned to the Summoner, whose wings flared outwards. He regretted that immediately, as the Grand Highblood's expression turned to one who would really like a pair of wings on his wall. "Look at you two," he muttered, "trying all up and lead a sad, motherfucking rebellion." He shook his head and scowled. "What do you motherfucking want?" he asked bluntly.

The Summoner's hands were steady; so was his voice. Nothing about him betrayed his fear; he knew that, besides him, Spinneret was probably doing that thing where she somehow made inspecting her nails look threatening. "We've come to offer a deal," he said firmly.

The Grand Highblood let out a shout of laughter, interrupting anything that he might have said next. "What in the names of the Mirthful Messiahs can you motherfucking offer motherfucking me?"

The Summoner swallowed hard. He remembered the woman who had come to him just a perigree before. She'd said that the rebellion would be destroyed if he didn't bring a politically powerful highblood into his plans and had promised him that the Grand Highblood would agree to the deal he would make. She hadn't spoken once, and had communicated solely by manipulating the odd sparking energy that surrounded her so that they formed words. He swallowed hard. Mindfang didn't know that he'd seen her. "We want you to support the rebellion. We need money and supplies. We need the assurance that, should the Condesce return, she won't be able to simply blast us to shreds. We need your support to turn the others to our favor."

The Grand Highblood snorted. "And what do I get?"

The Summoner swallowed hard. The woman had told him what to say here, and he relayed her words without a single hesitance. She had told him that he would have to. "Amusement at the hands of the Demoness."

He felt Mindfang's touch on his mind, and he shot a glare at her. Their eyes met and he froze. She knew. She knew that he'd spoken to the Demoness, knew that the Demoness had urged him here, to the subjugglator's home. And she hissed, impressing her thoughts easily into his mind, _You're sending me to die because the_ Demoness _told you to?!_

He could feel her anger, and he tried to think back, _You're not going to die!_ But he couldn't speak into her mind the way she could, and she didn't hear his response. She released his mind and he felt the feeling return to his toes and the tips of his fingers. The Grand Highblood had said something during their exchange, but he hadn't caught it.

Mindfang must've, for she was saying, "—more than you'll know."

The Grand Highblood snarled. He was no longer amused. He was angry and thirsty for blood. "Motherfucking Demoness," he snapped, "Expects me to follow her motherfucking word. I don't give a fuck who she thinks she is!" He let out a roar and shouted to the roof of his throne room, "This bitch killed my kismesis!"

Mindfang shouted back, "And you killed mine!" The Summoner had to admire her nerve; if she wasn't here, he'd probably be dead about now.

The Grand Highblood bared his teeth in a growl at her, but she merely twitched her lips into a coy smile.

There was a flash of dizzyingly green light, and a slight troll appeared besides the Grand Highblood's throne. She appeared tiny besides the pure mass of the purpleblood, her delicate horns arching away from her head and spiraling outwards. She swept her fingers — long and spindly — through the air, and the glow around her body formed words that hovered above her head. _yOu have seven minutes._ They reshuffled themselves like quicksilver, melting into each other in a captivating dance. _and then I will intervene._

The Grand Highblood leaned over and snapped, "You've got some motherfucking nerve, showin' up here."

She examined him with eyes that shifted rapidly through different colors, her expression still unchanging. The words above her head shifted. y _Ou know I haven't yet spOken to the rebels._ They changed. _i've nO idea what deal they speak Of._

"Motherfuck," swore the Grand Highblood. But even he couldn't deny direct orders from the Demoness, although he might try. "Fine, Summoner." The Summoner instantly relaxed, and he examined the Demoness' impassive face.

The Demoness met his eyes, and he felt a chill run through his veins when he saw them soften with a hint of sorrow, of compassion, and pity. Did she know what was going to happen? Did she know something bad that was going to happen?

Mindfang was still on edge, not unlike a meowbeast when an intruder danced just on the edge of its territory. She said, voice rising slightly as her fear rose, "And now?"

The Grand Highblood met her eyes, his expression twisted into one of the utmost loathing. "Now I'm gonna beat the motherfucking daylights out of you."

The Demoness' letters twisted. _five minutes._

Not sure what she was counting down to anymore, the Summoner darted forwards, drawing his lance. "No!" he shouted firmly, although fear that borderlined panic had risen within him at the Grand Highblood's last statement, "We have a deal! Honor it!"

"And I'm demanding something else!" The Grand Highblood roared. "You get all of motherfucking me and I get a single motherfucking favor from the motherfucking Demoness!"

The Demoness let out a strange sound, her long lashes fluttering as she somehow rolled her eyes without pupils. As her fingers slashed the air, the words shifted. _patience, highblOOd._

Mindfang danced backwards and fell into a crouch, her hooked sword drawn and her teeth bared in a feral snarl. The Summoner met her eyes, and, as one, they took up defensive positions. His right wing arced protectively out behind her, and her left leg crossed over in front of his, keeping him from doing anything stupid. Her bright red boots seemed to glow in the gloom, much like the blood splatters on the wall.

The Grand Highblood pointed a huge finger at them, his own snarl slowly twisting into a horrible grin. "I'll help your motherfucking rebellion, Summoner. But first I'm gonna make _you_ beat the everloving shit out of your motherfucking matesprit."

The Summoner's eyes widened and he shouted, "Absolutely not!"

But he saw the way Mindfang flinched, saw the way the tip of her red boot twitched, as if she'd barely refrained from leaping away.

"Absolutely fucking yes," the Grand Highblood retorted, his voice falling into a threatening growl.

Starting to panic, because the rebellion _needed_ the Highblood's help, the Summoner protested, "But—"

The Demoness thrust out her hand, and a wand was suddenly held loosely in her spindly fingers. A blast of light shot towards the two rebels, and they darted away to avoid it. Now on the opposite side of the room from her, the Summoner could only guess as to how Mindfang was feeling about this.

She stood still, straight and striking, on the other side. He watched as she turned to look at him, her incredible mane of dark hair swirling about her. But he couldn't care less about her hair right now. Her eyes were blazing with the deep intensity he knew and loved, but there was also fear. The type of fear that was explosive in its ability to paralyze the limbs and dull the think-pan.

The Demoness' words twisted, and they suddenly looked sour. _Kill._

The Summoner looked at Mindfang. She turned her entire body towards him, giving him a clear shot to her heart. "No," he whispered fiercely. His grip on his lance tightened and his knuckles turned white. The rebellion needed the Highblood. He needed Mindfang. There had to be another way. He looked at the Grand Highblood, beseeching. But his show of weakness merely solidified the Grand Highblood's choice. The Demoness was no help either. She remained perfectly impassive, one wand pointed at each rebel. He hated her suddenly. He hated her for sending him here with a ferocity that would've driven him to kill.

But then the hate turned in on himself, for being stupid enough to take the advice of a creature like the Demoness. Feeling nothing but desperation, he looked back at his matesprit. He felt her touch upon his mind, and willingly surrendered. _Make the decision for me_ , he thought, like a coward, like a fool, like a squeakbeast.

But she merely pressed her emotions lightly into his mind. Not enough that his own changed, but enough that he knew. She was afraid. She was deathly afraid. But she was also resigned. She had known she would die today and, like a fool, he'd ignored her and brought her into danger.

The Summoner broke. He was a grown troll and he was the leader of a rebellion. He should be better than this. And yet he felt the tears running down his cheeks, because now he knew. He knew that, despite all he'd said, he would be the one to kill her. "I don't want to," he whispered, a sob rising in his throat, "I can't."

"Kill her!" the Grand Highblood roared.

Softly, gently brushing her thoughts into his, Mindfang murmured, _I forgive you, you know. Just please — try to make it painless?_

"I can't kill you!" the Summoner shouted, his voice cracking. He hated how her expression didn't change, how utterly aloof she appeared about her own fate.

 _Oh, Summoner_. She shook her head and shrugged off her mask as if it were a dress she merely had to unbutton. There was no pity in her face, only cold acceptance. _You know the rebellion is worth more than my silly life._

The Summoner made a spastic motion with his hands, wanting to drop his lance. "But I pity you," he said brokenly.

She flashed him a smile. _I pity you, Ruf—_ Her mismatched eyes flew open wide and she let out a startled gasp.

And then she lunged towards him, her sword slicing through the air.

The Summoner had been a warrior for as long as he could remember. And so, even through his haze of grief, his instincts took over. He ducked under her blade, swooped down low, and stabbed his lance upwards.

Screams filled the throne room: Mindfang's voice, as she cried out in pain, the Grand Highblood's voice, as he howled with mad laughter, and the Summoner's voice, as he shouted with alarm and horror.

Behind him, unnoticed, the Demoness drew her wand away from his neck.

The Summoner clutched her body to his, shocked. He felt horribly, horribly numb. Oh god, there was blood everywhere. Cerulean stained his clothes, the floor, his lance, cascading from her body in terrible bubbles of blue. Her face was screwed up, but she's stopped screaming. Cracking open her eyes, she tried to say something. Blood bubbled at her lips and dripped down her cheek.

And then the numbness broke.

The reality of the situation crashed over him in a wave, and he let out another scream. "Oh god, Aranea," he moaned, fingers itching towards the lance. He wanted to rip it from her body, wanted to see the wound magically close. But he knew that she was dying. She hadn't removed her grip on his mind when she'd attacked, and so he could feel her pain, her misery, her struggles to survive. "Why'd you do that?" he whispered, "You knew I'd defend myself."

Her eyes fluttered, the cerulean lashes glistening with tears. She was crying, her chest rising and falling spastically as she struggled to breathe while her lungs filled with blood.

"Don't die," he mumbled fruitlessly, bowing his head over her body and clutching her to him as if that would fix things, "You can't die. You're Aranea. You're the Marquise. You can't die, dammit!"

Her presence in his mind fluttered, and he stiffened. _Rufioh. . . ._ And then his mind was completely and utterly free. In his arms, her head fell loosely against his elbow and her flesh arm fell limp. The metal one was still wrapped around the lance at the part where it dove into her skin.

The Summoner screamed. He screamed for the grief that pulsed in him as if it was alive. He screamed for the pure _weight_ of his actions. He screamed because the only troll he had ever pitied had died in agony, and he had been the one to do it.

He sensed movement in the corners of his eyes and looked up. The subjugglators were coming. They were going to take her and use her blood as paint. There was no way in hell the Summoner was letting that happen. He closed his eyes and poured all of his twisting, convoluted emotions into the energy he used for Communion. And then he released his power in a greater wave than he ever had before.

Fearherbeasts and squeakbeasts suddenly let out cacophonous cries and rose from the depths of the throne room. More outside fought their way in, biting and scratching at any troll they came across. Pyralspite let out a roar and, through her eyes, the Summoner watched as fire rained from the sky. Back in his body, in the throne room, the Summoner vaulted to his feet. Subjugglators darted forwards, snatching and dragging at Mindfang's clothes and hair. He grabbed her sword from where it had fallen from her hand and swept it downwards, lopping off their arms. They let out an animalistic shrieks, and the Grand Highblood roared.

He leapt from his throne and gathered two enormous juggling pins, gripping them like clubs.

The Demoness rose into the air, ethereal and terrifying for all her small stature. Flashing eyes narrowed, she swiped the air. Words — larger than before and shifting rapidly through different colors — glowed in the center of the room, freezing all movement. _StOp._ They shifted. _BegOne._

Then there was a blinding flash of green and the Summoner found himself back home, in his treehive in the headquarters of the rebellion. He shrieked, "No!" and leaped into the air, his wings beating spastically. "No." But there was nothing he could do. He was days away from the subjugglators' city now. Aranea's body would be left to the Grand Highblood and her blood would forever stain his hands.

* * *

 **Again, thank you so much for reading until the end! If anybody ever wants to talk Ancestors with me, _please_ don't hesitate to PM me! I would love to talk about where the various plot lines in this fic would have gone, and what my new headcanons are. Thank you!**


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